Addiction
by jane0904
Summary: Next in the Mal/Freya 'verse. The crew find themselves dealing with a sickness, while Hank has his own problems. Sorry about the long wait, but this is for Kristafied. Read, enjoy, review! Now complete, but with more to come.
1. Chapter 1

"We're losing."

"Yeah, but that makes us more dangerous."

"Can we take 'em?"

"Of course we can."

"You don't sound too convinced."

"Just one more push …"

"Our usual tactics?"

"Worked before."

"Then let's get this over with."

The huddle broke up and Freya tossed the large silver ball from one hand to the other.

"I think they've been discussin' us," Jayne said out of the corner of his mouth.

"You think?" Mal shot him a glare.

"Can't we just surrender now?" Hank panted, his hands on his knees. "I just want to go someplace and die quietly."

"Didn't think you did anything quietly," the big man said. "S'why River and me moved into the shuttle."

"I thought you moved into the shuttle 'cause River didn't want to live with all the women you've bedded over the years," Mal pointed out.

"That too."

Freya coughed significantly. "If you boys have finished …"

"You were the ones huddlin'!" Jayne was indignant.

"And now we're not." She smiled, making the men's blood run collectively cold. "Ready."

Simon, sitting on the sidelines with Kaylee, all the children around their feet watching the game avidly, looked at his wife. "Are you sure you don't want to play?"

Kaylee shook her head. "I'm enjoying bein' a spectator. 'Sides, they don't need me."

"No?" Simon laughed as Zoe knocked Mal down, taking the ball from his hands even as he fell, tossing it accurately through the improvised hoop.

"Nope. Seems they can take on all the men, no problem." She smiled at him. "You could play. Maybe even it up a little."

"I'm not much better than useless, you know that. And Jayne would take far too much pleasure out of telling me what to do."

Kaylee grinned and squeezed his hand.

"Hey, old man," Jayne called, seeing Mal struggle to his feet once more. "We too much for you?"

"I ain't old!"

"Well, I was figuring now you're middle-aged –"

"You're older'n me!"

"Only in years," River said, smiling sweetly.

"Hey!" Jayne protested, turning on her. "Thought you were on my side."

"I was just agreeing."

"Who with?"

"And I'm not on your side. You wanted it to be girls versus boys," she pointed out.

"Shoot me next time I suggest it."

"Okay."

He grinned at her. "Anyways, we're tied now."

"We've only been lulling you into a false sense of security," Freya insisted.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Zoe picked up the ball. "Then the last hoop makes it," she said, handing it to Mal.

"Last one," Jayne agreed. "But give me twenty seconds to knock some skill into my team."

"Is that possible?" River breathed, then looked away from the men's glares.

"C'mon," the ex-merc said. "Huddle."

"Did he say huddle or cuddle?" Freya teased. "Now isn't that the sweetest thing you've ever seen?"

"Men not afraid to show their softer side," Zoe added.

"They are so going down," River finished.

Jayne lowered his head and his voice. "Look, I ain't about to throw this game 'cause Hank's got a worse arm than the doc."

"Well, excuse me for living," the pilot said, affronted. "But I've scored more than Mal."

"Only 'cause I've been keeping 'em occupied." Jayne exhaled heavily. "But there's only one thing's gonna win this for us. Tactics."

"Jayne, that's really not –" Mal began, but the big man interrupted him.

"I'm team captain, here, not you."

"When did you get elected?" Hank asked, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair.

"Just shut up and listen."

The girls watched intently.

"I don't think I like the look of this," Freya commented.

"Can't you just …" Zoe lifted a finger towards her temple, dropping it before it made contact.

"That would be cheating."

"Only if we get found out."

"No peeking," River admonished.

"Oh, I don't need to," Freya said quickly. "Besides, I can read Mal without having to look into his mind."

The men stood straight and Jayne clapped his hands. "Time to win this!" he crowed.

Mal tossed the ball to Hank, who immediately dodged behind a stack of crates, Zoe following. Freya stuck to her husband like glue, marking him and not letting him anywhere near the ball. Or so she thought. Suddenly Hank was up the stairs behind Kaylee and Simon, Zoe chasing uselessly behind him, and a flash of silver sailed over her head, safely into Mal's large hands. He turned away, his body between her and the ball, legs set.

Zoe was still on the stairs, and Hank was holding onto her for dear life, even as Jayne blocked River from tackling Mal.

Freya couldn't get to the ball, couldn't even touch it, so she did the only thing she could. Aiming low, she grabbed him around the knees and put all her weight behind it, thrusting forward.

Mal began to fall, but twisted as he did so. Now, in the heat of battle, he was at his most dangerous, and as he allowed the momentum to carry him forward he aimed in a split, and let fly.

Jayne began to whoop, knowing it was sure, that no-one could get to it, that they were gonna win one, that he'd be able to lord it over …

River disagreed. She more or less ran up him, her slim form quicker than his hands, and as the ball sailed towards the hoop she reached out and touched it with her fingers, not enough to deflect it so much as change its trajectory so it went right through the centre rather than lower right.

Jayne's cry of triumph turned to one of despair. "No!"

"Yes," River said, sliding back down him.

Mal, on his back on the deck, groaned.

"Hah!" Freya said, her body resting on his legs.

"You cheated," he accused, pulling himself free and rolling towards her.

"Nope."

"You peeked."

"Did not."

He lifted himself up onto his arms, looking down at her. "Did too."

"Did not."

He shook his head. "Oh, you are so going to that special hell."

"Only because you're going to be there too." She pulled him down and kissed him.

"Cap, there's children present," Kaylee pointed out softly, pulling her ponytail tighter.

"S'only kissing," Bethie said, sniffing. "Know all about kissing."

"You okay, honey?" her mother asked.

Bethie rubbed her eyes. "Tired."

Kaylee picked her up, swinging her onto her hip. "Wanna take a little nap before supper?"

The little girl nodded. "Just for a while."

Kaylee felt her forehead. "Simon, she's a bit hot."

He stood up. "Come on, munchkin. Let's take your temperature then get you into bed, okay?"

"'Kay."

Simon went to pick up Hope, but Zoe said quickly, "We'll take her, doc."

"Thanks." He flashed her a quick smile then followed his wife towards the infirmary.

"Is she okay?" Freya asked, quickly getting up from the deck, her concern immediate as always. Ever since Ethan had contracted Minuet's, she'd been more than a little paranoid about any fever among the children or crew.

"Simon will look after her," River assured her.

"I know, but –"

Mal had followed her to his feet, and now put his arms around her waist. "It's probably nothing," he said comfortingly. "You know what kids are like."

She managed a smile for him, but glanced towards the infirmary nevertheless.

"It looks like I'll have to do dinner," Zoe said, pushing Hank's wandering hands away and walking down the stairs to collect Ben.

"Hungry," the little boy agreed. He stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and held out his hand towards Hope.

"You know, I see another wedding in the future." Mal squeezed Freya's waist.

"Not for a long, long, long while yet. Or maybe even longer," Hank said firmly. "I want more kids before I become a father-in-law." He waggled his eyebrows at his wife.

"Oh, come on," Zoe said, shaking her head and sighing. "I hear the kitchen calling."

"No, we'll do it," River put in.

"Hey, moonbrain, it ain't our turn!" Jayne griped.

"You lost the game. And I like cooking." She took his hand. "You can chop things. With a knife."

"Hey, I'm good at that!"

"Why do you think I suggested it?"

---

"Where's short stub?" Jayne asked, stirring the pot, under strict orders not to do more than sniff the surprisingly appetising odour. Tasting was out.

Simon settled Hope into her chair. "She was asleep, so I thought I'd let her rest."

"She okay?"

"I think it's just a cold. She's chesty, and she's got a slight temperature, so staying in bed won't hurt for a day or so."

River paused as she put out the plates. "Do you want me to save her some? It's only protein stew and a few vegetables, but –"

"I think she'd like that." Simon nodded. "And one for Kaylee."

"Won't leave her, huh?" Jayne commented, adding a pinch of salt as if he knew what he was doing.

"Who won't leave who?" Mal asked, ushering Ethan into the galley, Hank behind him with Ben.

"Kaylee's staying with Bethie," Simon explained.

"The little bit okay?" Mal's concern wasn't only as captain - it was as head of the family.

"Probably just a twenty-four hour thing, and then she'll be demanding ice-cream and puppies."

"Wonderful combination," Hank threw in. "And yet somehow … disgusting."

Both men ignored him.

"Did you test for … you know." Mal glanced over his shoulder to where Freya was only just climbing out of their hatch with Jesse in her arms, and kept his tone low.

Simon understood, and spoke quickly, his own voice just above a murmur. "Yes, and it's not Minuet's. Jesse's safe."

Mal released a breath. "Good. And thanks."

"I'm a father too, Mal."

"And not that bad at it, neither."

"I'm not sure I can take such flattery," Simon deadpanned, sitting down next to his youngest daughter.

"I'd try if I was you," Freya said, smiling at the young man. "He doesn't do it that often." She settled Jesse into the high chair next to Mal. "And thanks."

"For what?"

"Testing for Minuet's."

Simon chuckled. "Why am I surprised you knew?"

"Because you're a boob," River supplied, carrying the stew to the table and dishing out spoonfuls onto the plates.

"Are you ever going to stop calling me that?"

"No," she said simply.

He sighed. "I give up."

"Best way when it comes to women," Mal advised.

Zoe stepped down into the dining area. "Sir, I just had a wave from Dupont. He wanted to know when we're going to be at Keyser to pick up his cargo."

"When we get there. We're not late." Mal glanced at Hank. "Are we?"

"Nope. Making good time," the pilot replied.

"Then what's he complaining about?"

Zoe shrugged. "It's Dupont. He always does."

Mal sighed. "True."

"And I told him we'd be on time."

Hank sat down. "Actually we'll probably be at the skyplex a few hours early. I managed to get us a push from a passing comet, and used that to -"

Mal held up his hand. "The push I get. The _how_ I don't need to know."

"Just saying." Hank piled vegetables onto his plate. "So it looks like we might have a little time to kill."

"I could do with picking up a few things," Simon put in. "For the infirmary."

"Ben needs some bits," Zoe added.

Jayne piped up with, "Could do with a drink."

Mal looked at his crew. "We'll see. If Dupont ain't there then maybe you can all take some time off ship. But only then. I want to get this job over and done."

Zoe looked at him closely. "You think there might be a problem, sir?"

"Not really. But I seem to recall the last few times we stopped at a skyplex things didn't quite go as planned."


	2. Chapter 2

Keyser Skyplex looked, sounded and - worst of all - smelled like all the others of its type they'd ever visited. Engine fumes and hot metal, food and incense, various unidentifiable odours, all mixed with the thousand bodies that went through its corridors every day.

Mal took a deep breath, suppressed the urge to cough, and looked around at the various stalls he could see from where he leaned on the wall.

"Sir, Dupont's finally arrived." Zoe materialised at his elbow.

"And there was the man going on because he thought _we_ were going to be late." He straightened his brown coat and smiled at her. "How long before we get the cargo?"

"An hour or so." Zoe looked as implacable as ever. "The goods'll be checked in, then he'll pay the tariff and we can pick up."

"And we pay again." Mal shook his head. "They get us coming _and_ going, don't they?"

"Not our money, sir. And it's the way of places like this." Zoe glanced at the barker in the corner calling everyone to see the boy who was half gorilla. "They're mostly interchangeable."

"I know what you mean."

"Not sure why we're picking up here at all," Jayne said, strolling up behind them. "If'n we'd done this on some rock somewhere we'd've been on our way by now, without all this palaver."

"Because this is legit, and the buyer wants it done right." Mal stood straight. "Well, it seems we do have a little time after all. Good job Freya made Kaylee go shopping. But if you see them, tell 'em they've got but an hour."

Zoe looked doubtful. "I think I should stay here. Wait for Dupont."

"I'll be doing that." Mal smiled. "Go. Have some fun. Don't mind me."

"Well, Ben needs some new socks and stuff." She was still unsure.

"Zoe, go. Who knows, you might see your other half around."

"Hank's gone already?" She sounded surprised.

"Soon as I lowered the ramp."

"Aw, hell, Zo," Jayne sighed. "I got me a list of stuff for River, and I don't know what half of it is. You help me, I'll buy us a drink."

"You're asking me to go shopping with you?"

The big man didn't quite blush, but he did suddenly find the floor of the skyplex incredibly interesting. "Well, there's some lacy underthingies she needs and I don't know –"

Zoe took his arm. "Come on. Before you embarrass the captain."

"Ain't possible, is it?" Jayne murmured as she pulled him away into the concourse.

---

Dupont blew a perfect smoke ring from his evil-smelling cheroot into the superstructure of the cargo bay.

"Alex, do you have to?" Mal complained, waving his hand to disperse the odour.

"Thought you liked a good cigar." Alexander Dupont grinned.

"I do. But that is not, in any way, shape or form, a good cigar." He made a face. "What's in it, old socks and engine scrapings?"

"Finest Achaeon," Dupont insisted, looking at the offending article. "Paid a lot for these."

"You were robbed." He screwed his eyes up against the smoke. "I think you need to ask for your money back."

"Well, they weren't exactly legal in the first place."

Mal had to smile. "Alex, I have a contact might be able to help with the real thing. I'll try and remember to ask, next time I see him."

"Be grateful." He puffed away happily, getting a good glow going.

"God, it stinks."

"It's good for you. Clears the sinuses."

"I like my sinuses where they are, thanks."

Dupont laughed. "You ain't changed. Still the same whiny _jiao shu_ you always were."

"And I love you too, Alex."

His dry tone made Dupont laugh all the louder. "By the way, there was someone asking about you, couple of weeks back," he added, watching as the station crew drove up in a bright, shiny mule, a large container connected to the back.

"Oh?" Mal raised one eyebrow. "And who'd that be?"

"Feller didn't give his name. Just asked for Sergeant Reynolds."

"Not a Sergeant. Not no more."

"That's what I told him."

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"Something about a job. He wasn't any more forthcoming so there's no point in torturing me for information." He blew another cloud of smoke.

"You're the one doing the torturing," Mal said, coughing.

"Oh, for the love of …" Dupont lifted his left boot and crushed the smouldering tip of the cigar against it, dusting the ash onto the floor. Now the bay smelled of burning rubber too.

"Thanks." Mal watched him put the end back in its case. "So, this feller who wouldn't give his name. Did he say how I could contact him?"

"Nope. Just that he'd catch you some time."

A thread of unease slid down Mal's spine. "Those words?"

Dupont laughed. "Why, Mal, you been up to something you shouldn't?"

"Not … lately," Mal said, his mind wandering back over the _Ling Miao_ plaque. "When was this?"

"I told you, couple of weeks. No, I tell a lie. A month."

So before Prater and his gang almost sold everyone as slaves. "What did he look like?"

"A feller. Medium height, brownish hair, about your age … a feller." His eyes narrowed. "What's got up your bonnet, Mal?"

"Just don't like folks looking for me I don't know about."

"Well, he didn't look fierce." Dupont straightened his browncoat. "Seems like they're ready to load you up, and that means it's time for me to head on out." They shook hands. "Next time we'll have us a libation to fallen comrades. And it's your turn to buy."

"What? And have you drink all the profits like you did last time?"

"Just because you couldn't keep up …"

Mal shook his head. "I swear you have a hollow leg."

"Ain't that the truth." He banged his cane on his right leg, the sound booming hollowly. "You know, you should really come work for me. I could use a good man."

"You'd like to be ordering me around again, wouldn't you? Had me enough of that during the war." Mal tempered his words with a smile.

"And the worst sergeant I ever had the honour to serve with. More like you and we might not have lost."

"Thought you were leaving?" Mal couldn't take the compliment.

"I'm going, I'm going." He moved quickly down the ramp, his stick taking only a little of his weight. "Think on it, Mal. You've got a family now. Can't be a rogue forever."

Mal laughed. "Why not? Someone has to."

Dupont grinned. "You're never gonna change. See you around, Mal."

"See you, Alex." He watched as Dupont limped quickly away. As he disappeared around the corner, Zoe came out of the shadows. "Okay, what've you done with Jayne?" he asked.

"He's gone for a drink." She climbed the ramp to halfway up, watching the men on the mule arguing over a clipboard. "I wasn't thirsty."

"You still angry with him?" Mal asked his first mate.

She turned to look at him. "Jayne?"

"Alex Dupont."

"Whatever gave you that idea, sir?" she asked, noting the men finally beginning to unload.

"Oh, the way you've been standing there these last five minutes, waiting for him to leave."

"He's a traitor, sir."

"A turncoat," Mal corrected. "To our side, more's the point. And there's at least one other of that type on board this boat." He tried to stop the smile that threatened. "It's because he pinches you, isn't it? A one-legged man and you still can't get out of the way fast enough."

She merely raised an eyebrow as she strode off to supervise the unloading.

---

Hank strolled through the stalls, picking up an item here and there, studying it, letting the seller use his best pitch, then shaking his head and putting it back. Everything seemed more expensive than their last landing, and most of it was crap anyway. Still, he'd managed to find something nice for Zoe, even if it was a little pricey.

As he approached Serenity's docking point, he could see four or five men in yellow jumpsuits were carrying boxes on board.

"Hank, where'd you get to?" Zoe asked, straightening up from where she was examining one of the boxes.

"Just thought I'd get me a little drink." He grinned. "Since someone else, for once, was doing all the humping."

"Did you gamble?"

He allowed himself to look shocked. "As if I would."

"Hank, I mean it. You promised."

"And I kept that promise." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Just a drink, is all. And I didn't even get into trouble."

"I didn't know that was possible."

He laughed and headed off towards the bridge, whistling as he went.

"Don't you trust him?" Mal asked, watching one of the station crew out of the corner of his eye who he was convinced would walk off with anything not nailed down.

"He's my husband."

"You know, that ain't an answer," Mal pointed out, then pounced on the man he'd been watching, dragging one of Kaylee's best … thingies out of his pocket. "Gorramit, there's thieves everywhere," he complained.

"That there is, sir," Zoe agreed.

Five minutes later, after the skyplex authorities had taken the would-be crook off and made profuse apologies, if not a refund, Jayne strode up the ramp.

"Enjoy your drink?" Mal asked, looking up at the large number of crates and boxes cluttering his bay.

"Was okay." He didn't seem in the mood to chat.

"What's up? You look like your dog up and died."

"It's nothing," the big man muttered, crossing between the boxes and heading up the stairs.

Mal shook his head. "Everyone was so all-fired happy about spending some money, and now they come back miserable as sin." He looked at Zoe. "That seem right to you?"

Zoe glanced to where Kaylee and Freya had just appeared, arms round each other, laughing gaily, lots of bags in their hands. "Oh, I don't think all of them, sir."

Mal sighed heavily. "You think my wife's left me with any money?"

"I doubt it, sir."

"Neither do I, Zoe. Neither do I."

---

"Hank." Jayne crossed the threshold onto the bridge.

"Hey." The pilot turned in his seat, stuffing a small paper bag into his pocket. "Had a good day?"

"Not so good as some."

"Yeah? Who would –"

Jayne was suddenly in front of him, his arms on the back of the seat, penning him in place. "What the hell were you doing?"

Hank's eyes widened. "Look, I know you've always had the hots for me, but this –"

"It ain't a joke." The big man glared. "In that bar. Playing Cargo."

A flash of guilt crossed Hank's face, replaced by bluster. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you do. Place called Emily's. Big painting of said owner behind the bar. Big girl. Naked."

Hank shook his head. "No. Don't know it." He pushed at Jayne's arm, but it was immovable.

"So it was some other little runt with hair like a tornado's hit it, was it?"

"Must have been." Finally he ducked underneath.

Jayne stood up slowly. "You were gambling," he said slowly.

"No."

"I saw, Hank. You might'n't have seen me, but I saw you. Clear as day."

"I don't gamble anymore."

"Well, you sure as hell weren't playing for chores." Jayne cracked his knuckles audibly. "I've got half a mind to –"

"As much as that?" Hank interrupted.

Jayne took a step towards the pilot, who, to his credit, didn't back up. They were nose to nose. "You got something you wanna say?" he growled.

"Yeah. How about, stay out of my business?"

"That it?" Jayne glared at him, almost studying the untidy brown hair, the grey eyes of the man in front of him, as if he was a specimen under a microscope.

"What?" Hank demanded.

"Just wondering how a _er bi _like you could end up with a woman like Zoe, and still be stupid."

"Stupid?"

"Yeah. And a liar too."

"I'm not a liar."

"Then how come I'm looking at one right now?"

The air on the bridge was thick with tension.

"_Hank._" Mal's voice sounded over the com. "_Locking her up. Time to get gone._"

Neither man moved.

"_Hank. You there? 'Cause if you're off dilly-dallying it's coming out of your pay._"

Hank slowly reached up and pulled down the com, his eyes not leaving Jayne's face. "I'm here, Mal. Where to?"

"_Newhall_."

"No problem. Over or under?"

"_Over. All legal and above board. But not too obvious. Let's not ask for trouble._"

"Roger that." He hung the com back up. "I have work to do," he said quietly, his grey eyes becoming hooded. "If you don't mind." Slowly he turned back to the console, sitting down in the chair and beginning the start-up sequence.

"This ain't over," Jayne said softly.

"Yes, it is." The familiar whine of Serenity's engines began to purr in the background.

Jayne glared at him a while longer, but without physically attacking the man there was little he could do. With a scowl he turned on his heel and stomped off the bridge, back to his shuttle.

River was waiting for him. "You can't do anything," she said, settling the blanket over Caleb as he slept.

Jayne collapsed onto the bed. "He's _fong luh_."

"Yes." She turned to look at him. "But it's an addiction." She sighed. "And it isn't our affair," she added softly.

"But he promised." Jayne shook his head. "He promised Zoe."

"Haven't you ever broken a promise?"

"Well, yeah, sure I have. But only when I didn't mean it in the first place, and not to the woman I love."

"He doesn't think of it as gambling. He knows he's going to win, so it's just a game."

"That ain't how Zoe's gonna see it."

"You can't tell her."

"Moonbrain, she's gonna find out."

"I know. But not from us."

Jayne stared at her, then slumped back onto the bed. "He's still _fong luh_."

She slid next to him, her legs over his thighs. "It will come back and bite him."

Her husband's eyes narrowed. "You see that?"

"When Zoe finds out, she won't be happy."

A chuckle made its way up from Jayne's belly to his throat. "Almost worth telling her just to see –"

River's slim fingers stopped his lips. "Promise."

"Huh?"

"Promise me you won't tell her."

"Aw, River –"

"Promise."

Her dark eyes fixed his soul into place. "'Kay. I promise. But I still think someone oughtta know. Mal, maybe. Or Frey."

"They will," she said, settling her head against his shoulder. "They will."


	3. Chapter 3

"So what was your first time, Mal?" Hank asked, wiping his plate around with a piece of bread.

Serenity's captain sat back, his mouth twitching. "Why should I let you in on that, I wonder?"

"Come on," the pilot said. "We've all told the tale. Me and Risa, Jayne and … what was her name?"

"Dorinda."

"Yeah, that was it. Nice name." He smiled at the big man, but only got a glare in return. It had been like this for the past five days since they left the Keyser Skyplex, and although he knew why, he wasn't about to tell anyone else. He turned back to Mal. "So it's not fair. Even Zoe confessed. Now it's your turn."

Mal chuckled. "Well, I have to say, it's a sorry story."

"We're all ears."

"Rustlers."

"What?"

"Cattle rustlers. We'd been having trouble with them, and not just us, but neighbouring ranches too, so me and a friend of mine, Pete Mahoney, decided to do something about it."

"And you got shot?"

"Heroically."

"How old were you?"

"All of fifteen." The chuckle became a laugh. "Damn, but it hurt."

"I'll bet."

"What did your Ma say?" Kaylee asked, her eyes wide and bright.

"I seem to recall some harsh words being bandied about, least until she called the local doc."

"And which one of your many scars is thanks to that little escapade?" Simon put in.

"That, I'm afraid to say, is something you're never gonna find out."

"Spoilsport," Hank said goodnaturedly, eating the last of his bread.

Mal felt Freya's eyes on him, and he turned his head enough to be able to look at her. There was a smile on her lips, and yet again he cursed her abilities.

_What's it worth not to tell them rustlers weren't involved?_ he heard in his mind, a definite laugh amongst the words.

_We had rustlers at that time!_

_Yes, but you got shot in the ass by your friend Pete when you were out duck hunting. And I think everyone should know that._

_Don't you dare._ He saw the smile widen and her mouth open, so he said quickly to Simon, "And how's our latest patient?"

"Bethie?" Simon's brows drew together a little. "Still under the weather. I'd say it was the 'flu, but she should be feeling better by now. I'm going to run a few more tests if there's no improvement tomorrow."

"It's even put her off her food," Kaylee said, her cheerfulness dimming at the thought of her little girl not being well.

"Now that is worrying," Mal said. "She could eat us out of ship and home."

"She's not that bad!" Kaylee snapped back, then looked slightly ashamed. "Sorry, Cap'n."

"No, _mei-mei_, it's my fault. I shouldn't've made fun." His eyes were at their softest blue as he said, "If anyone can make her eat, it's Ethan." His son was down in the sickroom, sharing a tray piled high with the best they could offer.

"He's been looking after her real well," Kaylee agreed, anxious to make up for her ill-temper.

"Like father, like son," River added, nursing Caleb as he slept in her arms.

"Hey, honey, you wanna give him to me a while?" Jayne asked, his voice gentle. "You ain't touched more'n a morsel yourself."

"Not hungry."

"You gotta eat." He reached out and took his son, so careful that the baby didn't even stir. "Now, you clear that plate."

River smiled, just a little. "Yes, Jayne." She picked up her fork and speared a piece of protein.

"How do you do that?" Mal asked, shaking his head. "No-one on this crew ever does what I tell 'em."

"I'm sure it's just the novelty of it, sir," Zoe assured him. "Being newly-weds."

"You mean after a few months they'll be arguing like the rest of us?"

"I don't doubt it."

"Hey, we don't argue!" Hank protested.

"No, but then again you don't do what I tell you anyway," his wife pointed out.

"Well, there is that."

"And we do what you tell us," Freya added, putting her hand on Mal's knee. "When it's important."

"Uncle Simon?" Ethan's voice from the doorway had them all turning to look.

"Hey, big feller," Mal said, smiling at his son. "You finished that lot already?"

Ethan glanced at him, his eyes anxious, but said, "It wasn't my fault." The little boy was tugging on the ear of his teddy bear, a sure sign he was agitated.

Mal's grin faded. "What wasn't, Ethan?"

"Bethie's face. I didn't paint her." He looked unhappily around the table.

Simon stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

Ethan crossed the dining room and slipped his small hand into Simon's larger one. "Come look." He led the way out of the galley, all of the rest of the crew following. "She wouldn't let me come for you before," he added, holding tight. "But she's asleep."

At the stairs he started to go down them one at a time, but Simon couldn't wait. He scooped the little boy up and handed him to Mal. "I have to …"

"Go, doc. We're right behind you."

Simon ran down the stairs, Kaylee at his heels, both of their hearts pumping furiously.

"Simon …"

"I don't know."

"If anything …"

He didn't answer as they reached the lower crew quarters, and he flung the door aside, stepping into Bethie's room. She was facing away, the covers pulled up to her chin. "Bethie?" he said softly, trying to control his breathing as he sat down on the bed.

"Daddy?" She yawned and rubbed her eyes, turning towards him. "Is it time to get up?"

"_Run-tse de fuo-tzoo_," Kaylee breathed, holding onto the doorjamb.

"No, sweetie," Simon said, his hand already touching her face. "I just need to take a look at you."

She flinched back, realising what he meant. "It wasn't Ethan's fault," she insisted, pulling the covers higher.

"I know. Just let me see." His fingers, more gentle than they had ever seen, began to trace the red rash on her face, the skin thickened slightly. Removing the sheet from her grasp, he opened her nightdress a little, and the edge of the red tide was clearly visible on Bethie's chest.

"You swore it wasn't Minuet's!" Freya hissed, holding onto Mal's arm so tightly she was leaving bruises, livid with rage and fear.

"It isn't." Simon glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the crew. "What it is ... is measles."

"Measles?" Mal shook his head. "Didn't think anyone got that no more."

"I'll run a couple of tests, but I'm sure." Simon gathered his daughter into his arms, lifting her up easily. "It'll take a few minutes."

"Long as you need, doc."

---

"I'm sorry," Freya said, watching Mal rub his arm.

"It's okay."

"I just … seeing that redness … I thought …" Her eyes closed.

"I know." He pulled her closer. "But it's just measles."

"Where do you suppose she –" Freya stopped as movement in the infirmary indicated Simon was coming back out. "Well?" she asked. "Is it?"

"As I suspected. Measles."

"Why didn't you test for it?" Kaylee demanded from the doorway, her own colour high.

"Because it's so rare."

"Rare? Your daughter -"

"Rare in the Core, Kaylee." He tried to speak calmly. "It's been virtually eradicated there, with only one or two cases a year."

"Well, make that three now." She crossed her arms, still furious with him.

"Probably more."

"What?" Mal asked quickly. "More?"

Simon shook his head. "No-one bothers inoculating against it anymore, Mal. At least in the Core. River and I are definitely at risk."

"And the rest of us?"

"I've had it," Jayne put in. "Mattie brought it home when he was just starting school. So I'm okay."

"Me too," Kaylee said reluctantly. "When I was eight or nine."

"I think I missed it," Hank added, looking at Zoe worriedly. "What about you?"

"I don't think so," his wife said.

"Then Jayne and Kaylee are the only ones who are honestly safe," Simon interrupted before the discussion could go around the rest of the crew. "I can check the last lot of blood work I did on all of you, but I'd say they're likely to be the only ones with natural immunity from contracting the disease."

"People used to make sure their children caught things like this," River added, Caleb awake now and sucking contentedly on her little finger.

"They did?" Hank asked.

"To get them out of the way. Over with."

Mal stirred. "I seem to recall my Ma saying something about that once," he said slowly. "There was an outbreak of something or other in the town, and Ms Hollister came round with her boy, wanted to know if she could take me along."

"Did your mother allow it?" Simon asked, interested from a medical point of view.

"Nope. My Ma said it was crazy, and the best way of me not being sick was not to be in the same room as sick people."

"Well, she was right about that." Simon shook his head. "The problem is that there is a minor epidemic sweeping the Rim at the moment."

"You been looking it up?"

"While I was waiting for the results." The young man began to pace. "The incubation period is about three weeks, so I think she probably picked it up on Verbena."

"See," Mal commented to Freya. "We do legitimate jobs and this is what happens." He turned back to Simon. "So what now? We all gonna come down with it?"

"I hope not."

"Why?" Hank asked quickly. "Is it dangerous?"

"Not to the children, not usually," Simon assured him. "Mostly they just recover with plenty of fluids and bed rest. But for adults, that can be a different matter."

"I think you'd better clarify things here, doctor," Mal said firmly.

"With little or no immunity to the virus, adults can have … complications." Simon sat down next to Kaylee. "Worst case scenarios are brain damage, loss of hearing, that sort of thing."

"But that's worst case, right?"

"Oh, yes. But even in milder cases it can be unpleasant."

"That's why parents used to let their kids catch these things, ain't it? 'Cause they knew what might happen if they got them while they were older."

"Your mother wasn't in the wrong, Mal," Simon added. "A case could be made that, if you kept children isolated, the disease would die out naturally."

"Except it ain't." Mal took a deep breath. "So, what do we do?"

"There's an antiviral that's pretty effective at stopping the disease in its tracks, if the person gets it soon enough."

"How soon?"

"Well, with this variant Bethie has probably only been contagious for a few days, so we have maybe a week before the rash appears. After that point we just have to wait things out."

"And do you have this antivirus thingie?"

"No."

There was sudden silence.

"Then what're we talking about here, Doc?" Mal stepped forward, his hands thrust into his pants pockets to keep them still. "We're all gonna get sick?"

"No. I don't think it's going to come down to that."

"Then what? Head back to Keyser?"

"No. And if we did we'd have to explain why we wanted the antiviral, and then we'd be quarantined. Measles is a communicable disease, especially at the moment. But we're landing on Newhall, aren't we?"

"To make the delivery, yeah."

"They'll have a hospital. And hopefully the equipment I need to make the antiviral, even if they don't have a supply of it."

"It's gonna be a day 'til we get there," Mal pointed out. "Are we gonna be in time?"

"Well, if they don't have any ready, it will take a day or two to synthesise the -"

"Simon. Yes or no."

"Yes."

"Good." He looked at Hank. "See if you can shave the time a little."

"On it, Mal," the pilot said, jumping to his feet and hurrying out of the galley, glad to be doing something.

"What about Bethie?" Kaylee asked her husband, her hands rubbing round and round each other. "And the other children?"

Simon thought a moment. "She's contagious, but she might not have infected them or anyone else yet. If it's okay with Mal I think she'd be better off in shuttle one. At least it has its own air system, and we can scrub it easier."

"She can't be in there on her own!"

"She won't be." Simon put his hand on top of hers. "You're going to be with her. I told you, you're safe from the disease."

"Good idea, doc," Mal said, nodding in agreement. "We'll make it like a home from home."

"And you?" Kaylee prompted. "You said, you and River weren't ever inoculated."

"I'm a doctor, Kaylee. I'll be fine."

"What, you gonna shout at the germs and tell 'em not to infect you?"

"I could try it." He tried to smile a little for her, but she was still glaring at him. "Sweetheart, it'll be fine. We'll get the vaccine and … Kaylee, honestly. You don't need to worry."

"She's my daughter, Simon, and you're my husband. A'course I'm going to worry."

There was nothing he could say to stop her from doing just that, so he squeezed her hand gently. "Why don't you get it ready for her? Take whatever she needs in there and I'll bring her up shortly."

"I'll help," River offered.

Kaylee swallowed hard. "'Kay." She stood up, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. "You coming?"

Simon caught Mal's eye. "In a minute."

"'Kay." The two young women hurried towards Bethie's room.

Simon turned back. "What?"

"Is there something you ain't telling us?"

"About what?"

Mal waved his hand. "All of this."

Simon exhaled heavily, aware of the others watching him closely. "Mal, the truth is, we're probably all infected by now. Living like this, so closely together … it'd be a miracle if we dodged that particular bullet."

"And how's it going to affect us? Honestly?"

"Well, the sooner we get the vaccine, the better. Initial symptoms are like a cold, maybe bronchitis, but as I said once the rash appears there's nothing I can do except alleviate any distress."

Mal glanced at Freya. "Which will be?"

"Loss of appetite, extreme tiredness, sensitivity to light, bronchial congestion, pneumonia if we're really unlucky …"

"How long until we feel better?" Zoe asked, concern for her own son uppermost in her mind.

"At least two weeks after the rash subsides."

"Always wondered if having it made Matty sicker when he got that damplung," Jayne commented quietly, looking after where his wife had gone.

"It's possible." Simon got to his feet. "I'd better go and help Kaylee."

"Hang on a sec," Mal said. "More'n once we've needed a vaccine. This equipment we ain't got. Expensive?"

"Very."

"Anywhere we can steal one?"

Simon allowed a small smile. "I'll make a list."

"Take that as a kindness."


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Serenity approached Newhall both Ethan and Hope were beginning to sniffle, and their temperatures were increasing.

"It's okay," Simon reassured an anxious Freya and Kaylee outside the infirmary. "There's still time to give them the antiviral, and they're both strong children."

"You sure there won't be problems?" Kaylee was pale, her normal sunny disposition buried under a mountain of worry.

"I'm sure, _bao-bei_. Just get her bits and pieces, and take her into the shuttle." He smiled, just a tilt of the lips. "At least Bethie will have someone to play with."

"She's asleep most of the time."

If she bit her lip much harder, he considered, she'd draw blood. "No, that's good." He rubbed her arm. "The more rest she gets, the quicker her body's going to throw this off."

"I guess. You're the doctor." She didn't look convinced.

"More than that. I'm their father." It didn't occur to him anymore that Hope wasn't his flesh. As far as he was concerned, his words were the honest truth. "Now, you go get some of her stuff. That grey … thing Jayne got her is a favourite."

"It's a hippo!" Kaylee said firmly.

"It's got five legs."

"She doesn't care!" The young mechanic flounced away towards the nursery, radiating scorn.

Simon could help a grin, but it faded when he looked back at Freya. "Something on your mind?"

"What's the point in all this?" she asked in turn.

"The point?" His eyebrows raised – he'd expected her to understand, at least. "Well, the antiviral –"

"Not that. I mean all this pretence. Putting the children in the shuttle, as if that's going to stop it spreading."

Simon sighed and took her arm, leading her to the common area chairs. "Did you peek?" he asked, making her sit down.

Her body was stiff, unyielding, hands clasped tightly in her lap. "No, but I'm more than capable of researching the Cortex."

"Second guessing me now?"

"Afraid for my children."

"Frey, don't be. I'm a damn good doctor. You know that."

"But even you can't perform miracles."

"No, no, I can't. But it won't get that far. With the antiviral I can stop this in its tracks." He put his hand on hers. "I promise."

"Then why not tell everyone the truth?"

"Because Kaylee needs something to hold onto. They all do, just a little bit. If I told them that by this time next week the only people still on their feet are likely to be Jayne and Kaylee, there'd be a riot, don't you think? I mean, imagine Mal getting nursed by Jayne."

Freya couldn't help it. A slight smile creased her lips. "Giving him medication."

"Taking his temperature," Simon added.

"Making him have a bed bath." The mental images amused her, but the anxiety didn't recede. "I know all this, Simon. It's just … after Ethan …"

He remembered – how could he not? Seeing two people so close to him almost losing their son, the pain they went through, the anguish … "It isn't Minuet's, Frey. The prognosis is good, and even if we do all come down with it, we'll probably be fine. Terrible patients for Kaylee and Jayne to look after, but fine."

"And … the infection … it won't affect his pacemaker?"

Now Simon understood better. She was worried the tiny implant that regulated Ethan's heart beating, put in after he contracted Minuet's, might malfunction. "No, Frey. It was the best the Alliance can offer, and will probably still be ticking over in a thousand years time. The power source itself is guaranteed that long."

"You promise?"

"You want to read me?"

She looked into his blue eyes, honest and sincere. "I warn you. If it doesn't, I'll come back and perpetrate horrible things on your body," she said finally.

"I'll look forward to it."

---

"Where'd you want to put down, Mal?" Hank asked, manoeuvring Serenity through the upper atmo, flames bright outside.

"At the port in Monument. Like I keep telling folks, this delivery's above board. Macallum said he'd get his men there soon as we arrive to take it off our hands and pay us."

"Monument City." Hank stared out at the sky turning from black and red to blue. "Makes it sound really grand, doesn't it?"

"I think the name's probably more in hope than anything." Mal steadied himself with a hand on the back of the pilot's seat as they hit a spot of turbulence. "Just so long as it has a hospital."

"I checked. There's a clinic in town, says it has full medical facilities. Only three doctors anywhere near local: two in Monument and the other way out in the sticks, and not that many more over the whole planet." He glanced over his shoulder. "How do people survive?"

"That's the point. Sometimes they don't. If you're a settler and you're lucky, you might have someone with some medical experience who can help, even if it's just setting a broken leg. Most times, though, you just hope no-one gets sick." He smiled grimly. "Let's face it, Hank, there's plenty of people still willing to be coming out here."

"They're insane."

"Probably a little. But we all had to come from some place, and there's lots of land down there ready for the taking. Good or bad, it's there."

"Is that what your parents were like? Settlers on a raw new planet?"

Mal shook his head. "Shadow was one of the better terraformed places, and my family left the Core four or five generations back."

"They did good?"

"Very good. Brought up their sons and daughters to respect freedom." Mal tightened his grip on the chair. "Hank, ain't we getting just a bit too close to the ground? I mean, I don't mind discussing my family's history with you, but I'd rather we didn't crash as a result."

"We're fine," Hank assured him, lifting Serenity's nose and feeling her respond well. "So, Monument?"

"Monument."

---

Monument City sat at the delta of a river that flowed through three-quarters of the largest land mass, a sprinkling of green all along its banks until it got close to the coast, when the better irrigated farmland spread out. Homesteads dotted the countryside, cheek by jowl in the fertile areas, more scattered the further away from the water they were. Mal had been almost right – while there were no buildings above three or four storeys, the town looked respectable and well-kept.

As Hank settled Serenity into her dock, River stood at the doorway of the infirmary. "Better take a coat," she said.

Simon looked up from the small medical bag he was packing. "Why?"

"There's a forty percent chance it's going to rain."

He smiled. "Okay. I'll pick one up." He straightened. "How's Caleb?"

"Snuffling."

"What?" The smile fled his face, and he was almost out of the door as she caught his arm, effortlessly stopping him.

"No. There's no need. There's nothing you can do until you bring back the antiviral."

He looked at his sister, her calmness, almost at odds with how he'd come to think of her. "River, I should –"

"The sooner you get it, the sooner Caleb will be better."

Now he saw the tension in her face, just a small tightening around her eyes. "He'll be fine, River."

"I know. I have faith in you." She shook her head. "I almost wish I'd had the full range of inoculations at the Academy as they planned, but you got me out before they could."

"You saw that? That they were going to –"

"In their minds. Defensive deployment generally means offensive, and likely to be out in the uncivilised areas of the 'verse." She sighed. "If I'd had the inoculations he would have been all right, but –"

"It's not your fault." He dipped his head to look at her. "You do know that, don't you?"

"Nobody's fault," she agreed, then lifted her head as if listening. "Time to go."

"Simon!" Mal shouted from the cargo bay as soon as the words had left her lips, his voice ringing through the superstructure. "Time!"

The young man grabbed his bag and glanced back towards the lower crew quarters. "My coat …"

"I'll get it." She gave him a gentle push. "Go. Otherwise Mal will be angry."

He flashed her a grin and hurried towards the doorway.

She watched him step through, then turned to fetch his coat. No matter that she had made out she knew everything was going to be shiny, there was a knot of fear in her belly, and it was making her conjure up all sorts of scenarios for things that might go wrong. She needed to talk to someone. Freya. Yes, that would be best. Perhaps they could run over the whole control thing again.

---

"You ain't going alone," Mal said firmly, his arms crossed as he stood in front of the open bay doors.

Simon sighed heavily. "I realise that. But … Jayne?"

"Hey, ain't like I wanna be your date neither, doc," the big man said. "But someone has to look after you."

"Can't Zoe –"

"She's staying until Macallum arrives." Mal shook his head. "Look, I ain't keen on you going out there at all, but you're the only one knows what he's talking about, so you go with a bodyguard. And until we're unloaded safely, Jayne's it."

Simon knew he wasn't going to win any argument. "Okay."

"You got your beacon?"

"Yes." He tapped his shirt, feeling a small metal box lying flat against his skin. Kaylee had sewn a pouch in each of them for just such a reason, complaining all the time of sticking herself with the needle, but not letting him do it. As soon as she had the parts she'd promised him one small enough to fit into the heel of his shoe, but until then this was the best they could do.

"Good." Mal reached into his own pocket. "This is about all we can spare in the way of cash until we get paid." He held out the handful of currency. "If you need more, tell 'em we'll get it to them."

Simon glanced at the notes. "I think Jayne ought to look after that."

"Me?"

"Him?"

They spoke together, both men surprised, not so much that the ex-mercenary could be trusted with the cash, but that Simon was the one doing the trusting.

"No-one's likely to try and rob him, not if they value their lives," Simon explained, inwardly amused at their reaction.

"He won't be armed," Mal pointed out, as if the lack of weaponry on the big man had gone unnoticed. "Monument don't allow guns off ship."

Simon smiled. "I'll take Jayne over any eight other ruffians any day."

"Well … that's … good." Mal tried to pull his dignity back together. "Then I guess you'd better get going. You got a comlink, Jayne?"

"Sure thing." Jayne touched one of the many pockets on his cargo pants.

"Clinic and back, no side trips."

"You got it, Mal." The big man slapped Simon on the back, almost overbalancing him. "Better go."

"Wait," River called from the common area doorway, running through with Simon's coat. "You don't want to catch a cold."

"Thanks." He smiled and slipped it on, then reached up and pushed her hair away from her face. "Won't be long, _mei-mei_. Keep an eye on Kaylee for me, will you?"

"Of course." She kissed him on the cheek.

"Hey, don't I get one of those?" Jayne complained, pulling her to him.

She smiled and reached up, placing a much deeper kiss on her husband than she had done on her brother. "Better?"

He laughed. "Just about tide me over." He let her go. "See you soon, girl."

"Soon."

The two men strode out into the cool air, and River wrapped her arms around her chest.

"You okay, _xiao nu_?" Mal asked.

"I don't know."

He looked at her sharply. "You see something happening that shouldn't?"

She shook her head. "I … don't think so. But there's so much worry on board, I can't focus."

He stepped closer to her, putting his arm around her shoulder. "Albatross, I know if there was, you'd see it." He smiled. "And she's waiting for you," he added, squeezing gently.

"Frey?"

"Mmn. Said you ought to go join her in the galley, if'n you want."

She leaned her head against him. "In a minute," she said, allowing his heat to warm her through, the care and love he felt soothing her mind. "In a minute."

---

"Thanks," Jayne said, walking swiftly and staring solidly ahead. "For saying that. 'Bout you trusting me."

"It's true." Simon was having to half-run to keep up. "Besides, you _are_ my brother-in-law."

Jayne flashed a lop-sided smile at him. "Didn't think you approved o'that."

"Jayne, you keep my sister happy, more than I was ever able to do with all the drugs I had. She's never going to be completely sane, or even close, but she's never been as … as content as she is with you."

"My moonbrain."

"Yes."

"You know she means the world to me. Her and Caleb."

"I worked that out when I saw your tattoos in lieu of rings," he said dryly. "And he'll be fine."

"What?" Jayne's brows drew together. "Who?"

"Caleb. He'll be fine."

"What?" The big man glanced down at him. "What about Caleb?"

"Didn't … didn't River tell you?"

"Tell me what?" He stopped in the middle of the street. "Tell me what, doc?"

Simon looked around uncomfortably, then said quietly, "It looks like he's coming down with the measles too."

Jayne glared at him, then turned his eyes towards the docks. "_Ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng_, why didn't she tell me?"

"She probably didn't want you to worry."

"Bit late for that now, ain't it?" Jayne realised his hands were in fists, and he tried consciously to relax them, when all he really wanted to do was hit something. "How come it's all the kids, doc?"

"They have less resistance, generally. The rest of us have been out in the world, and … Jayne, if it makes you feel any better, I think Zoe's got a sore throat."

The big man jerked his head back to stare at the young man, then realised he was joking. "_Cao,_ Simon, that ain't fair. And I don't want no-one to get sick."

He was almost in shock. "I think that's the first time you've called me by my name."

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it." He strode off again, letting the doctor play catch-up.

---

The clinic was a fairly new building, two floors high and all white stone and steel, standing out somewhat incongruously amongst the older flatboard houses. Two small wings swept back from the central façade, and a wide double door was set dead centre.

"No punching," Simon said firmly. "We're here to ask for a favour. I don't want us thrown in jail just as we're this close."

"No punching," Jayne agreed. "But can I at least look intimidatin'?"

"You mean you don't do it on purpose all the time?"

"Nah. Underneath I'm just a soft woolly teddy bear." He leered slightly. "Ask your sis."

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, hoping when he opened them it would be one of the other crew members standing there. It wasn't. He sighed. "Come on." He led the way through the double doors that hissed quietly open at their approach.

Inside the smell of disinfectant and other chemicals was overlaid with a faint perfume of flowers, but it didn't work very well. In front of them, along one long wall, was a counter that looked as if it could handle six or seven people, but was only manned by one.

Simon let his doctor persona take over, and he approached the desk. "Hello," he said, smiling at the receptionist. "I'd like to see either Dr Hammond or Dr Stokes."

She looked up, about to smile back then seeing Jayne looming behind. Her hand hovered over the emergency call button. "If you're selling something –"

"No, nothing like that. It's … personal."

"Personal?"

"I have a request."

"I really need some more –"

"Please. I just need to see him for a few minutes."

She looked him up and down, wondering what a man like this could possibly have wrong with him. "Well…" She knew she shouldn't, but he had a nice smile, and he looked professional, and … "Dr Hammond isn't available, and Dr Stokes is with a patient." She glanced at Jayne again. "But if you two … gentlemen would like to take a seat, I'll let him know as soon as he's free."

"Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

"Concentrate," Freya urged.

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

The young psychic lifted her head quickly to glare at the older woman, then dropped it back, her eyes staring at the coin on the warm surface of the old wooden table. "It isn't doing anything. And my head aches."

Freya smiled. "Then stop."

River looked up. "I can never make it do anything," she said, a resigned note in her voice.

"It's because you don't let go."

"If I did that, I might kill everyone."

"Then you don't let go _enough_."

"I saw what you did that time. While Jayne and I were visiting his mother. Bethie was amazed." She put her head on one side. "How did you do it?"

"Honestly?" Freya laughed. "I don't know. My mentor told me at first I'd never have the control, having started too old, but … I don't know. It just does."

"Show me now?"

She was about to say no, to explain how it took so much out of her, but one glance at the hopeful look on River's face was enough. The young woman needed this, needed something to be thinking about other than her tiny son. She reached over and took the medallion, placing it in front of her. "Okay. Watch closely." She leaned forward, her eyes not really on the metal, but more through it, into the spaces between the molecules, under the atoms, deep into the heart of the nucleus, and River was with her every step of the way.

---

The receptionist stepped back into the main atrium. "I've spoken to Dr Stokes, and he can spare you a minute, but that's all. I'm sure you're aware of the problems we've been experiencing, and what with Dr Hammond being sick too …"

"Measles?" Simon asked, getting to his feet.

"Yes." The young woman shook her head. "Something that's supposed to be just for children … most of our beds are already full."

"Difficult times."

"Yes." She shook herself. "This way, please." She led them along a corridor towards the rear of the building, her footsteps echoing on the hard floor.

Jayne was watching every turn, taking in where there were security cameras, blind spots, exits that might not be locked all the time, windows that could be forced. If it was needed, he had no compunction about knocking over this place, if that's what it took to make sure the kids stayed safe.

He didn't know Simon was doing the same.

"In here," the receptionist said, opening a door. "Dr Stokes? They're here."

Simon walked into the room, and the sight that met his eyes made him almost forget to breathe. This was obviously a laboratory, with refrigerated units and cupboards lining the walls, and a worktable with various obscure pieces of equipment on it. A man was leaning over a microscope, intent on the slide beneath, but it wasn't him or the racks of test tubes cluttering every surface that had Simon's attention. It was the machine in the corner.

His eyes sparkled with recognition.

"That it?" Jayne asked, barely whispering, having picked up somehow on the other man's contained excitement. "Makes the vaccine?"

Simon nodded, just a single inclination of his head.

"Come in, come in," the man said, not raising his head. "Thanks, Rita. You can go off to lunch now."

"Thank you, Dr Stokes." The receptionist closed the door behind them.

"I'll be with you in a moment. Just need to finish this … damn." Whatever he was looking at had disappointed him. "I really thought this time …" He took a step back and rubbed at his eyes.

"May I?" Simon asked.

"Mmn? What?"

"May I take a look?"

Dr Stokes peered at him myopically, then took a pair of glasses from his pocket, the oblong lenses catching the light. He slipped them on. "Are you a doctor?"

"I've had some training."

"Where?"

Simon was reluctant to give too much detail so just said, "Osiris."

"Core?"

"Yes."

"You wanted to be a doctor?"

"I did."

"Him too?" Dr Stokes gestured towards Jayne.

"Nah," the big man said. "I'm a nurse."

Dr Stokes stared, then laughed, much more than the joke was worth. "Well, thanks. I don't think I've … go ahead. Take a look."

Simon handed his bag to Jayne and approached the microscope. It was fairly new, but of an old-fashioned design, utilising refractive magnification rather than anything electronic. He looked through the eyepieces, automatically focussing it with the wheel at the side. "Hmmn. It looks to me like measles antibodies."

"That's right." Stokes seemed surprised.

"What have you been doing, trying to get them to multiply?" He stood straight.

"Yes."

"Not very successfully."

"Oh, I can make them grow all right. At least in small quantities. Given enough time I could inoculate the entire town against measles, but that's no damn good once it's here." He sighed deeply.

"I understand there's something of an epidemic."

"That's putting it mildly. And the Alliance aren't doing a thing to help." Stokes spoke bitterly, and Simon began to feel optimistic over his task.

"Haven't they supplied the antiviral?"

"About a hundredth of what I need. And that went in the first week. It's already too late for some folks."

"You've had deaths?" Simon glanced at Jayne, seeing the big man tense.

"Some. Mostly the old, but now it's affecting everyone." He gave a bark of laughter. "I'll tell you, the town's churches have never been so full. Mind you, neither have the saloons with people attempting to drink their troubles away. Different kind of prayer, I guess." Then any humour vanished. "Anyone with even a cold is being ostracised, and that's still not working. It's starting to run wild, and there's nothing I can do to stop it."

"Maybe I can help."

Stokes face tightened. "If you're trying to sell me black market juice, I have to tell you now, I don't have any –"

"No. Not selling. But I think I can help."

Stokes put his hands on his hips. "Who the hell are you?"

"My name's Simon Mara. I'm medic on board a transport ship sitting at the docks."

"And you came here? Knowing there was measles around?" Stokes shook his head. "Your captain must be a _sang xin bing kuang_."

"We've got measles on board," Simon said simply.

Stokes shoulders slumped. "Then I'm sorry for you. I don't have any antiviral to give you. There's not a single dose in the entire clinic."

"Why don't you use the ViroStim?"

"What?"

"The ViroStim." Simon nodded towards the machine in the corner. "That could give you all the antiviral you need."

A wry smile slid across the other man's face. "If I could, don't you think I'd have used it before now?" He shook his head. "You're even more of a lunatic than your captain."

"And if you could?"

"I'm not an immunologist," Stokes said. "I'm just a GP. A Federal supply ship brought this here almost a year ago, but didn't have anyone to show me how to use it. It's been gathering dust since then."

Simon held out the carrot. "I can show you, if you like."

"You could?" Stokes face took on an aspect of hope.

"In exchange."

"For what?"

"Some of the antiviral."

"Some of …"

"The rest of the crew have been exposed, and most have no immunity at all. My daughter is already in the macules stage, so it won't work for her, but my other daughter and the captain's son –"

"Your children?"

"Yes."

"My son, too," Jayne rumbled. "Only a few months old."

Simon could see the doctor was trying to come to a decision. He knew what was going through the older man's mind. He didn't know them from Adam, and to trust them with his equipment, when they might just steal everything he had and leave him crying in the dust …

"How can I know I can trust you?" he asked finally.

"You don't."

Stokes laughed again, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Guess not."

Jayne moved forward. "Look, the … Simon's your only chance to save folks, ain't he? If he can make this piece of Alliance crap work, then we all win. You get what you want, we get what we want. It's a good deal."

"I can't be scared into anything, you know."

"Wasn't trying to do that." Jayne grinned. "Hell, if'n I was trying you'd be in the corner pissing yourself right now."

"Thanks, Jayne," Simon said softly. "I think I can handle this."

"How do I know you just won't take all the antiviral and sell it on the black market? It's worth a fortune at the moment."

"You don't," Simon repeated. "I guess you're going to just have to trust me."

Stokes looked at the machine, then back at the two men standing in front of him. "I guess maybe I do," he said after a long moment. "You help me, show me how to use it … you get what you need."

Simon felt himself release a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Thank you."

"Just don't make me regret it."

"I won't." Simon turned to Jayne. "You'd better let Mal know. I'll be staying here for the moment."

"Not going anywhere, doc," the big man said, shaking his head. He pulled the comlink from his pants pocket. "Mal'd put me out the airlock if I did that."

"Can you use that outside?" Stokes asked. "It might affect the equipment."

Jayne glanced at Simon.

"It's all right. I'll be fine."

"Okay. But I'll only be a minute."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jayne."

---

Mal was watching from the doorway to the kitchen area. His wife and surrogate daughter were sitting at the old table, staring at something in front of them. He couldn't see what it was, but that didn't matter. He knew. The only link Freya still had with the man who'd literally saved her sanity, apart from the flame tattoo on her back. A coin, old, worn, not even legal tender, and probably hadn't been for a couple of hundred years or so, yet they were gazing at it as if it was the most precious thing they'd ever seen.

Freya's hands rested palm down on the old wood, and for a moment he was distracted by a memory of when he'd bought the table, entirely against Zoe's advice.

"There's only three of us, sir," she'd said. "We don't need something this big."

He'd run his fingers across the smooth grain, worn to a patina by countless meals and unknown generations. "Won't always be like that, Zo," he'd responded. "One day maybe she'll be full."

"You're not just talking about the table now, are you, sir?"

He hadn't replied, just paid the man the asking price plus delivery. It had taken them the best part of a day to take it apart so they could get it through the doors, then put it back together again.

He'd been right, though. Soon Wash was on board, and Bester was replaced by Kaylee, then Inara and Jayne took their places at mealtimes. Then three arrived at one fell swoop that day on Persephone, a cargo of stolen protein bars hidden behind the bulkhead. They'd all stayed, made a family. When two seats became empty, and tears cried over the loss, he'd wondered if there would ever be anyone to fill them, but he should have known better. Serenity attracted a certain kind of person, and Hank was definitely that. He'd stayed, married, had a child. And then there was Freya. His amazing, astounding, darling Freya, who'd taken his heart and given him two children whose laughter filled the old Firefly … He stopped, a lump in his throat. _Long may it continue_, he thought, trying to swallow. _Dear God, long may it continue._

"Mal!" Hank's voice bounced down the corridor. "It's Jayne!"

Mal turned on his heel and was running for the bridge before the echoes died away. He grabbed the com. "Jayne. Everything okay?"

"_Yeah, Mal, everything's shiny. In fact it's better'n shiny. It's … hell, you need to ask River for another word._"

"The antiviral?"

"_They don't got any –_" Mal's heart sank. "_- but they've got the machine, and the local MD's agreed to let us have enough in exchange for Simon showing him how the thing works._"

"Thank God," Mal heard Freya whisper behind him.

He fingered the gold cross around his neck. "So what's the plan?"

"S_imon's staying to get it started. Sooner the better, n'all that. Don't worry none, though. I ain't gonna leave. It looks like he's stuck with me for a while._" There was definite laughter in the big man's voice.

"I'm sure he's loving that idea."

"_Nah, me and the doc've come to an understanding._"

Mal's eyebrows raised as he glanced at Hank, vaguely wondering as to the exact nature of that understanding. "Well … keep me posted as to the progress."

"_No probs, Mal._" The com clicked as Jayne switched off.

He hung the handlink back up then immediately turned to his wife, pulling her into his embrace. "They're gonna be fine, Frey," he murmured into her hair.

"I know." She sighed, her breath hot on his neck.

Mal glanced at River over his wife's shoulder. She was standing gazing into nothing. "You okay, albatross?" he asked.

"Maybe my brother isn't as much of a boob as I thought," she said quietly, bringing her eyes back to smile at the captain.

"Really?"

"No."

The com clicked again, this time Zoe's voice filling the bridge. "Sir, Macallum's just pulling up."

Mal stroked Freya's back once more then straightened his shoulders. "Hank, since Jayne's otherwise occupied, you'd best give a hand."

"Sure thing, Mal." Hank stood up, giving River his best grin as he walked down the steps along to his bunk to get his work gloves. It wasn't often he wore them, but after the incident with the crate a couple of years back that had burst and showered his hands with mildly corrosive chemicals, he wasn't taking any chances with his flying ability.

Dropping down the ladder he dragged open a drawer, reaching inside. The gloves were lodged right at the back, and as he tugged them free the action pulled a small money pouch out as well. He smiled, hefting it in his hand. His nest egg. His and Zoe's future.

A speculative look flashed into his eyes. They were going to be here for a few days while Simon prepared the antiviral, and there wouldn't be anything for him to do, not even really worry about the kids any more … He felt the weight of the bag again. Maybe he'd be able to add to it, make it just a little heavier.

"Hank!" Mal's voice filled the corridor, filtering through the open hatch and any small crevices, making tiny flecks of paint fall from the walls and dance in the breeze. "You planning on joining us?"

"Just coming, Mal," he shouted in return, replacing the pouch at the back of the drawer, satisfaction solid in his grey eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

Stewart Macallum was in his late sixties with a shock of white hair brushed back from a wise, weather-beaten-into-submission face. Taller than Mal by an inch, he was broadshouldered and fit, wearing his long black duster coat like a badge of office. As he climbed alone from the front seat of the buckboard, Mal walked down the ramp to join his first mate.

"Sir? Any news?" she breathed, not taking her eyes off the man in front.

"Jayne just called. Simon's made a deal. Be a day or two, but we're getting the antiviral."

Zoe wasn't one to leap up and down or even get emotional, not when they were on the job, but he could feel her relax, just a little. "That's good, sir."

"Surely is."

"Captain Reynolds?" Macallum stepped forward, pulling off heavy leather gloves.

"That's me." Mal stepped forward. "You'll be Macallum."

"That I will." There was a faint accent in the man's voice, a burr that spoke of a place a long way from Newhall. They shook hands, each taking a moment to judge the other. "My goods intact?"

"All here." Mal nodded over his shoulder. "Kinda filled my ship."

"It's my wife's fault." Macallum smiled suddenly, the lines on his cheeks merging. "She likes to buy, and I like to indulge."

"Got one of my own," Mal agreed.

"Then you'll know how it is." His eyes lit on Zoe. "And is this her?"

"No. This is Zoe. My right hand."

The older man's eyes raked up and down Zoe's form, but in an almost benevolent fashion. "I'm thinking this one keeps you on your toes too, right?"

"Since I was wet behind the ears."

For a long moment Macallum seemed be considering them both, then he must have liked what he saw, because he slapped his gloves in the palm of his hand and said, "Captain, would you have a glass handy? I've brought a fine bottle of sipping whiskey with me, and I hate to drink alone."

Mal raised one eyebrow. "Shouldn't we get your cargo unloaded first?"

"Mary's waited near a month for that piano – she can wait an hour longer."

"Piano?"

"Aye, that's in the big crate. At least, that's what I'm hoping. A baby grand." Mal must have looked baffled, because Macallum laughed and slapped him on the back. "It's a mite bigger'n the uprights you and I are used to, Captain, but it's just a joanna by a fancy name."

"I conjure it's destined for a place more refined, too."

"I think you're right."

Mal glanced at Zoe. "Would you -"

"I'll get the glasses, sir," Zoe said, heading back inside.

"Quite a woman," Macallum commented, watching her backside disappearing.

"She's married to my pilot."

Macallum grinned. "That a polite way of warning me off?" He shook his head. "It's all right, Captain. At my age I've taken the decision to stick to looking. Besides, Mary'd gut me if I did so much as consider touching."

"Got one of them, too."

"Do you fight?"

"Occasionally," Mal conceded.

Macallum's dark eyes gleamed. "Makes the making up even better, don't you think?"

"Always."

He glanced into the darker cave of the cargo bay. "Any trouble on the way?"

"It's been a quiet trip," Mal said. "Everything's above board, tariffs paid and signed for. I've got all the manifests and dockets ready for you."

"I'm sure it is." Macallum glanced down at the gun on Mal's hip. "Not always the way, though, I'll be bound."

Mal allowed a small smile. "I wouldn't know what you mean, sir."

"And I like a man who's respectful." He put a hand on Mal's shoulder. "Makes me inclined to treat him well. Particularly when there's a beautiful woman just inside with a rifle in her hands."

Mal didn't even look. "Frey, come on out and meet our client."

Freya oozed into the daylight, her gun tucked under her arm. "Mr Macallum."

The older man dropped his head a little. "Mrs Reynolds." He looked up at her from under his eyebrows. "And were you planning on shooting me?"

"That depends."

"I imagine it does." Macallum held up his hands. "Ma'am, can we call a truce? It's too nice a day to ruin it with bloodshed."

She smiled slightly. "I'll think about it."

"Does she trust anyone?" Macallum asked in a loud aside.

"It takes a while." Mal looked at Freya. "Put it away, _ai ren_."

"Okay." Still, as she leaned the rifle against the airlock wall, both men noted that it was still within easy reach.

"Well," Macallum said, thrusting his gloves into his pocket as he walked back to his buckboard, reaching into the back seat and pulling out a bottle. "Where're those glasses?"

---

"What's it doing?" Dr Stokes asked.

Simon looked up from the display. "It's recalibrating. Sitting here for nearly a year has, well, thrown its systems out of synch, so it needs a while to settle down again."

"How long?"

"I don't know. It might be as little as a few minutes, or as long as half a day." Simon shrugged. "As long as it takes."

"Then I'm going to get something to eat." Stokes stretched his back, rubbing his hands through his reddish-brown hair. "Can I get you something?"

"Sandwich'd be good," Jayne growled, stirring from where he was sitting on the floor. "And something to drink."

"I think I can manage that. I doubt Rita's back yet from visiting her husband, but I can usually find my way around a kitchen."

Simon massaged the back of his neck where he was starting to ache. "Husband?"

"Stan Hammond. My partner."

"The other doctor?"

Stokes nodded. "He came down with the initial symptoms of the measles two weeks ago, and yesterday he started showing the red tide. Like your daughter, it's too late for the antiviral to help, but he's a strong man. He'll survive."

"Still, it must be troubling for her."

"Of course it is. And she knew the people who've died already." He smiled. "But as soon as I tell her we're going to be able to make the antiviral, that's going to cheer her up."

"I'm glad of that, Dr Stokes."

"Please. Call me Ray."

"Ray."

Stokes grinned. "So. Food and drink. I'll be right back." He hurried out.

"He seems okay," Simon said as the door swung to.

"Yep." Jayne settled back.

"Aren't you bored here?" He perched on one of the lab stools.

"Nope. Not really. I've watched men through a scope a lot longer'n this. Course, I always tended to shoot 'em at the end, but … I'll let you know if I can't take any more."

"Please do." Simon smiled slightly. "I wonder how Kaylee's taken the news."

"About that medicine? Knowing that girl, she's probably grinning like a loon and huggin' everyone."

Simon chuckled. "I imagine you're right."

"Figure the Cap's considering ducktaping her mouth 'bout now and throwing her in the hold."

"Then I'll remonstrate with him severely when we get back."

"You do that. I'll hold your coat."

They sat in fairly companionable silence for a few minutes, Simon keeping an eye on the ViroStim, until the big man coughed.

"What is it, Jayne?"

"I … can I …?"

Simon looked round at him. "What?"

Jayne took a deep breath. "Can I … ask your advice?"

"Is it to do with River?"

"No." Jayne shook his head firmly. "Everything's fine 'tween us. We're good. We're more than good. In fact we're shiny."

"Glad to hear it. So what do you want advice on?"

"Well … if you knew someone had a problem, and they didn't accept they had a problem, but you knew they had, how'd you make 'em realise they had a problem?"

"What kind of problem?" Simon leaned forward. "I'm a doctor, Jayne. Whatever's troubling you, I can help. Is it that rash again?"

"No it ain't!" Jayne glared at him. "And it ain't me, either."

"Then who?"

"I … not sure I should say."

"It must be one of the crew," Simon surmised. "Unlikely to be anyone else. And apart from the measles there are no medical problems I'm aware of." He narrowed his eyes. "Tell me, Jayne."

"It's … it's Hank," Jayne finally admitted. "That _er ba dao_ of a pilot's been gambling again."

"But he promised Zoe -"

"'Xactly." Jayne sat back.

"Did you talk to him about it?"

"Tried." Now the big man looked a little sheepish. "Probably not too well, but … he don't even admit he's got a problem. Thinks it's fine to go ahead and break his promise to Zoe."

"Is he winning?"

"Yeah."

"Ah." Simon crossed his arms. "That makes it more difficult. You might persuade a man who's losing that he's addicted to gambling, but a man who's winning –"

"Told me it weren't none of my business. Me." There was grudging respect in his voice.

"You must be getting softer in your old age."

"Nope. I reckon I was took by surprise." He eased his buttocks on the floor. "But that don't help Hank."

"And you want to?" Simon couldn't help the look of surprise.

"It ain't …Not that I wanna help. But he's our pilot. And Zoe's like to kill him when she finds out."

"And you don't want that to happen."

"Hell, I just wanna be around when it does."

Simon shook his head. "Not that much softer, then."

Jayne rested his wrists on his bent knees. "So what do we do?"

"We?"

"You're a doc. You know how to treat these things."

"Not … really."

"You mean they don't teach top three percent how to handle addicts?"

"He has to want to stop. If he doesn't then … well, short of tying him down we can't exactly stop him."

"You mean you don't got a shot that'd work?"

"It's not like drugs, Jayne," Simon explained. "Then I could give him an injection that would make anything he took cause him to be sick. Really sick. But when it comes to gambling, so far no-one's come up with a pill that will make a man throw up at the sight of a playing card."

"Gambling?" Ray Stokes stood in the doorway. "Someone's got a problem?"

Simon and Jayne exchanged glances. "A friend," the big man said, aware he hadn't noticed the door opening, and inwardly berating himself for it.

"Then you have my sympathy. It's not good for anyone." He crossed the room and looked around for somewhere to put the tray he had in his hands.

"Do you have much trouble with it in Monument?" Simon asked, moving test-tubes.

"Some. Not that folks have that much money to throw around in the first place to get into that predicament, but once they do …" He shrugged. "I wish I could do more to help, but you're right. There's no drug yet can help." A small played across his lips. "Gambling, alcohol, love … too much of any of them and you end up the same." He sighed then looked at them both. "So. Sandwiches?"

---

"We're never going to get all of this on there," Mal pointed out, feeling the last of the good whiskey slipping down his throat to warm his belly. He nodded from his cargo bay to the buckboard. "Not even a tenth of it, let alone that piano of yours."

"Oh, my boys are waiting around the corner with a container," Macallum said. "I just wanted to check you out first."

"Making sure you could trust us?"

"Something like that." He poured another measure into their glasses, the women abstaining. "I've dealt with a lot of men over the years, and more than my fair share of bad ones. Those willing to shoot you and take what they want, or giving you short shrift on their delivery. I tend to meet the people who work for me now, make up my mind before handing over any money."

"And what've you decided?" Mal asked, letting the soft perfume of the alcohol waft up his nostrils.

"I think you're a mostly good man, with maybe a tendency to bad habits."

Freya laughed. "I think you're right."

Mal glanced at her, but didn't respond. Instead he said, "It can be a hard life."

"Oh, I know. I came out here from Aberdeen nearly forty years ago, with nothing but the clothes on my back and a willingness to work hard. Had to do some things I'm not proud of, but I carved out a home for me and mine, and sent three sons and two daughters out into the 'verse with more than I ever had. Now I think I've got the right to sit back and enjoy some of the rewards, but I still appreciate the need in others."

"Aberdeen." Mal nodded. That explained the accent. "Not exactly an easy start to begin with."

"No, that's true. But now I'm a man of standing, and folks look up to me." He smiled. "Like folks look up to you." He sipped from his glass.

"You've been checking up on me?"

"Not to would go against the grain." Macallum smiled. "Don't worry. It was mostly okay."

"Ain't that kinda damning with faint praise?"

"Possibly."

"Hmn."

The two men perused each other silently.

Eventually Macallum broke the silence. "Although I do have one question for you. You know about our little problem?"

Mal deliberately didn't look at the two women. "Measles? Yeah. We know."

"The doctor in town is a good man, but he's not really got the expertise, nor the supplies to treat it. I've been doing my best, of course, trying to get the Alliance to release more of the medicine, but so far I've hit a brick wall." He shook his head. "My kind of influence only goes so far, it seems." Turning his glass around, he watched the amber liquid swirl from one side to the other. "In fact I'm more than a little curious as to why you landed here at all, knowing about our dilemma. You could've just asked a transfer out in the middle of nowhere, dumping my stuff and picking up your pay without seeing a living soul."

"I don't think you'd have liked that."

"No, I wouldn't. But I'd have understood."

Mal sighed. "Well, the truth is, it's not just here on Newhall, sir," he said slowly. "Looks like we picked it up ourselves from Verbena."

"You've got it on board?"

"'Fraid so."

"Then I'm sorry for you. I wish we could help, but without the medicine …" His voice trailed off.

Mal glanced at Freya, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "Well, sir, I think that might be being rectified as we speak."

Macallum's eyes darted between the two. "What do you mean?"

"There's a chance there'll be enough antiviral for everyone soon."

He leaned forward. "Son, if you've got supplies -"

"No, sir. Not supplies. But our medic is helping your own doctor to make what we all need."

Macallum had to close his mouth. "That damn machine the Alliance dropped off?"

"Our medic has enough training to be able to use it," Freya put in. "He's teaching your doctor."

"Could be your man's gonna end up being a hero around these parts," Macallum said, shaking his head in wonder. "They'll probably be putting a statue up in his honour."

"I think he'd like that," Zoe said dryly, adding very quietly, "It beats getting a hamster named after you."

Macallum didn't hear. "Do you really mean it? You're not just yanking my chain?"

"No, sir," Mal assured him. "Be a couple of days, but you won't need to worry after that."

He released a deep breath. "Then the town's beholden to you all." He threw the remaining whiskey down his throat and straightened up. "And it's time to get my purchases unloaded." He turned and waved.

"Someone watching us?" Mal asked, not surprised in the slightest.

"Of course. I didn't get to be my age by being stupid."

"No, I don't reckon you did." Mal finished his own drink. "We can give you a hand."

"The more the merrier," Macallum said, all smiles again as a large container truck pulled around the corner. "And … I know my wife's going to suggest it, as soon as I tell her what you're doing for this town, but … you should come to dinner. Tonight."

Mal shook his head. "Thank you, sir, but I think we'll stay close to the ship. What with most of the kids being ill -"

"Kids? You've got children on board?" The older man seemed shocked.

"It's our home, sir," Zoe said, walking out to meet the men stepping down from the truck. "That's what homes have."


	7. Chapter 7

Hank looked at himself in the mirror over the small sink and smiled. He'd showered and changed after helping unload the cargo, and now wore one of his white shirts and dark navy pants. His hair, while always untidy, was at least freshly washed, and he felt good. He'd actually enjoyed humping the crates off Serenity – although he was a pilot he tended to do a bit of everything, but heavy lifting once in a while made him feel more … masculine. He laughed, and his reflection joined in the joke. He'd have to tell Zoe that one.

Right now his wife, though, was in the shuttle with Ben, having a little mother/son time. He'd begun sniffling a short while ago, and Zoe had taken him to join the others. Of all the children, only Jesse seemed untouched. Not that he was worried. Well, not _too_ worried. Simon was going to get the antiviral, they'd been paid, and now there looked to be the possibility of more work.

Macallum had been insistent as he climbed into the buckboard. "I'm not taking no for an answer, Captain Reynolds. You and your wife will join me for and mine for dinner. Seven pm. We're the big house some ten miles outside town to the east."

"It's kind of you to offer –"

But Mal wasn't able to decline.

"Seven pm. And maybe we can talk a little business. I might be in the market for a good man to run some errands for me. Could be a once a month thing, maybe more." He fixed Mal with a stern eye. "We'll talk about it tonight." With that he whipped up the horses and followed the container truck out of the dock.

So now Mal and Freya had gotten spruced up and taken the hovermule to dinner, with strict instructions to the rest of the crew to let them know if anything happened, and for Kaylee to keep an eye on Jesse, even though she was in bed and not likely to wake, and to keep monitoring the coms in case Simon needed something, and to – Kaylee had taken affront at that point and told them both to get out. Still, Mal had practically had to drag Freya off the boat, promising they wouldn't be late back.

Hank ran his hands through his hair and stood up straight. Time to go.

---

"Much longer?" Jayne asked, cleaning his fingernails with a small knife he'd taken from his boot.

Simon looked up from the calibration screen. "Nearly done. After this I should be able to start introducing the sequences and we'll be ready to run."

Stokes ran a hand through his dark hair. "I don't know how I'm ever going to thank you." He'd come back from his ward rounds, his shoulders slumped. He'd lost another patient from complications, not as a direct result of the measles, but it hadn't helped.

"Just let me have what I need from the first batch. That's all." Simon ran a finger over the touch display, almost purring in satisfaction. "Okay, that's it." He smiled. "Now the sequences."

"Don't sound like leaving's gonna be too imminent," Jayne complained. "'N' I'm hungry."

Stokes handed Simon the first set of data tabs. "I can always make some more sandwiches."

"Them things? Ain't enough in one o'them to keep a fly going. I need something more that'll stick to my ribs."

"Just a little while longer," Simon promised.

"Well, my stomach already thinks my throat's been cut," Jayne said, pointing at the young man with the knife.

"You don't have to stay."

"Mal'd skin me alive and River'd pin my hide to the wall, you know that, doc."

Stokes tilted his head. "Why do you call him that?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Doc. I heard you calling Simon that before. Why?"

"Term of endearment," Jayne explained, thinking quickly. "Plus the fact that he ain't really, so it winds him up, and I'm married to his sister."

"Your sister?" Stokes stared at the younger man.

"Yes, a lovely little ship of semi-incestuous couples," Simon added dryly.

"I didn't mean –"

"No, it's all right. Actually Jayne's being on his best behaviour at the moment. Otherwise he'd be carving his name into the furniture."

"Don't think it ain't occurred to me."

---

"Where're you off to?" Kaylee asked, leaning over the railing.

"Just going for a drink." Hank smiled up at her.

"Zoe know?"

"Kaylee, my sweet, I don't actually have to tell my wife everything I'm planning on doing." He glanced outside. "Do you think it's likely to rain?"

"Maybe. And you're changing the subject." She walked to the stairs and sat down on the top step. "If you're going gambling Zoe'll have your hide."

He allowed himself to look shocked. "That's an awful thing to say."

"Well? Are you?"

"I'm just going for a drink, Kaylee. That's all. Wanna come with me?"

She smiled. "No. I need to be near Bethie and Hope."

"Well, if I put my sorry self inside that shuttle, that'd make it too crowded, and then Zoe would get mad at me, and we'd fight, there'd be blood, probably mine … I'm better off going for a drink." He grinned, his best boyish flash of teeth.

"What if you don't feel well? You're at risk too, you know."

"I don't get sick, Kaylee. Just got a good constitution, I guess." He slapped his hands together. "Well, I'll be off."

"You got a com? 'Cause you know the Cap'll tear you a new one if you go out without."

Hank sighed. "Yes, Kaylee, I have a com with me." He tapped his pocket. "I've also got a clean hankie and new underwear on, in case I get knocked down. Happy?"

"Nope, but I guess I ain't gonna be able to stop you." She stood up. "Just a drink, mind. Else I'll be telling on you."

"Just a drink," he promised, and strolled out into the evening air.

---

The stars were brilliant points of light above them as Mal drove the hovermule back towards Serenity, Freya at his side. The day's warmth had dissipated, and he was glad Freya'd thought to bring her shawl against the cool air blowing against their skin. He'd offered her his coat, but she'd just shaken her head and climbed aboard.

Not that his coat hadn't caused comments. It turned out that Macallum's eldest daughter had fought for the Independents, getting wounded a couple of times but managing to survive the war. Neither of them recognised her name, but that wasn't surprising with the number of browncoats there were before Serenity Valley. Still, it broke the ice somewhat.

Macallum had shown them a capture of a pretty woman in her mid thirties, her arms around a man who looked shocked at his good fortune.

"Up and married a construction company owner on Minton," Macallum said, looking at his daughter. "She's already got three children, and looking to pop another soon."

"Of course, we don't get to see them as often as we'd like," Mary Macallum added, taking the capture, her soft voice regretful. "But she's promised to bring the whole family to stay once the baby's born."

"Pretty much like the rest of them," Macallum went on. "Spread out over half the sector and not remembering to wave."

"Now, now, Stewart, they have lives of their own."

"A wave? How long does that take?"

It was obviously an old argument, and one that was never likely to be resolved.

Macallum had taken the opportunity at dinner to go over his idea of a possible regular supply run. "I need a man I can trust to bring in … well, whatever's needed. And I have a notion I might be able to trust you."

"That gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling, but I can't agree to anything without discussing it with my crew." Mal managed to look apologetic.

"Then do, do. Unless Mary decides to buy up the rest of the Cortex, it won't be for a while."

His wife reprimanded him gently, but as Mal sat in the hovermule, he knew he wasn't going to agree. The way things were, with Simon in particular being actively sought by … someone, and with Bethie on board, let alone River and Frey … he couldn't help but feel being tied to a regular route might be a very bad decision. It would only take the Alliance or anyone else to hear of it, and they'd be sitting ducks. Better to be on the move, never staying in any one place too long. Even their irregular trips to Lazarus had begun to make him increasingly wary.

Freya, of course, had picked up on his reticence, and smoothly changed the subject, asking about a piece of furniture she'd called a credenza, or some equally unlikely name, and Mrs Macallum had been delighted to give her chapter and verse on where and when it was bought, her husband dragged in when the issue of how much it cost had come up.

"Nice folks," Mal said, manoeuvring around the large outcrop of rock that marked the boundary of the Macallum homestead.

Freya smiled. "They are." She pulled the shawl tighter. "And honest, too."

"You read them earlier, didn't you?"

Her smile grew wider. "Of course. I don't intend letting you walk into a trap."

"That's good." He pondered a moment. "You know, that Mrs Macallum kinda reminds me of my Aunt Daisy."

"The one who used to give you toffee?"

"That's her. Uncle Zach's wife." He glanced at her. "You remember everything I've ever said?"

"Quite a lot."

"Even when I've been stupid and said things I didn't mean?"

She wrinkled her nose slightly. "I've forgotten those."

He grinned. "And people wonder why I love you."

"Do they? Which ones?"

"Those who don't know you like I do."

She laughed. "Sweet-talker." She settled quietly for a moment, then said, "You can say no."

He knew what she was talking about. "Can I?"

"He won't take offence."

"I just kinda … be like closing the stable door, and sometimes we do need the work."

She put her hand on his leg. "Then say you'll do it on an as and when basis." She slid her fingers up his thigh.

Mal barely scraped by a tree. "Woman …" he admonished.

"Want me to drive?" she asked, teasing him. "Too much of that good liquor, I think."

"Hardly touched a drop," he insisted.

"No, I noticed." She took her hand away, and he felt the loss. "They'll be all right," she said softly, her voice hardly carrying on the breeze.

"Course they will, _ai ren_," he agreed. "Got the best doctor in or out of the Core on our side. He ain't gonna let a thing happen to those kids, or us."

She leaned as close to him as she could, managing to lay her head on his shoulder. "I didn't know I was going to be like this, Mal," she confessed. "I didn't realise having children would make me so anxious."

"Hey, me neither." He glanced down at her. "Never thought I'd have children at all."

"Not even with Inara?"

He sighed. "Frey, honey, if you're gonna pick at that old wound, can we do it when we get home?"

"No, I'm sorry." Her hand was back on his thigh. "I think maybe I'm the one who's had too much to drink."

"Yeah, well, you and that Mary Macallum were putting 'em away faster'n we could pour." He twitched as she pinched him. "Come on, we're nearly there."

The dark bulk of Serenity was closing, and even as they watched light spilled over the top of the cargo bay ramp as it lowered. Mal pulled up the hovermule.

"Mal?" Jayne materialised from the shadows.

He tensed. "Simon with you?"

"Here, Mal," the young man said, stepping tiredly forwards and just managing to avoid the ramp as it hit the ground.

"How'd it go?"

"Good. Good. Just a matter of waiting, now." He yawned hugely, belatedly covering his mouth with his hand. "Sorry. Staring at screens for hours."

"Yeah, don't know how he manages it," Jayne agreed, slapping Simon on the back and nearly propelling him into the cargo bay.

"Could you be a little less fulsome with your praise?" the doctor begged.

"Make the most of it," Mal advised. "He might be wanting to string you up by your thumbs tomorrow."

"Or worse," Jayne leered, then ran into the bay, taking the stairs two at a time and striding into his shuttle.

Mal steered the hovermule inside and set it down on the deck, turning off the engine. In the sudden silence Kaylee's "Shh!" was very loud.

They looked up. She was standing on the catwalk outside shuttle one, wearing a pair of shortie pyjamas. "Shh," she repeated, her finger to her lips. "Everyone's asleep."

"Sorry, _mei-mei_," Mal grinned, climbing down and putting out his hand to help Freya. "Didn't know it was that late."

"It's not, but being sick's tired 'em all out."

"Is Jesse all right?" Freya asked, joining her husband.

"She's fine. Checked on her about twenty minutes ago and she's sleeping like a baby."

"And Ethan?"

"Sounds like he's got half a bushel of hay up his nose, but he ain't the only one." She glanced over her shoulder towards the shuttle. "I know you wanna see him, but he's spark out too. Best wait 'til morning."

"Well, I –"

Mal put his arm around her waist. "Let him sleep," he advised.

She looked into his blue eyes. "Okay," she agreed, somewhat grudgingly.

"Everything okay otherwise?" Mal looked back up at his mechanic.

"Everything's shiny, Cap. Hank went out for a drink, but that's it."

"He did?" Mal raised one eyebrow. "Zoe know?"

"Um, well, actually … I don't think so. She's been in the shuttle with Ben all evening, and I … well, I …"

"Didn't like to break it to her?"

"Something like that."

"Is he back?"

"I reckon so. I think I heard movement earlier while I was getting food for everyone, and I took a look into his bunk a while later, and I could see he'd gone to bed already. Didn't want to disturb him."

"That's thoughtful," Freya said, stretching like a cat. "I think I might do the same."

"What, go to bed with Hank?" Mal asked, winking at Kaylee.

"Thanks, but I think I've got over that phase of sleeping with pilots." She stuck her tongue out at him and started up the stairs. "If you'd care to join me we can carry on that discussion on whether you'd like to have had children with Inara."

Kaylee's eyes widened, but Mal said quickly, "Ignore her. She's had too much to drink."

"Drowning my sorrows," Freya threw back over her shoulder. "Sick children, a husband who doesn't love me … what else is a poor woman to do?"

"Poor …" Mal couldn't help it. He burst out laughing as Freya disappeared through the top doorway.

Kaylee grinned, even as she shushed him again. "You wake 'em up, you can tell 'em stories 'til they go back to sleep," she threatened.

"Wouldn't mind that, _mei-mei _, but I got a wife I need to remonstrate with." He glanced at Simon who had spent the entire conversation leaning on the wall. "Lock up, will you, doc?"

"No problems, Mal." He waved a hand wearily.

Mal nodded thanks and followed his other half.

Kaylee walked down the stairs as Simon pressed the button to close the bay doors. "Are you okay, honey?"

"Fine. Just tired."

"Not got a fever or anything?" She reached him and put her hand on his forehead.

"No, no fever." He took her hand and turned it palm upwards, placing a kiss in the centre. "Honestly."

"Well, long as you're sure …"

"I just need a good night's rest now that I know the children will be okay."

"Well, you're gonna sleep in our room tonight." She slipped her arm through his.

"Alone?"

She smiled, not her usual Kaylee grin, but the one she kept for him, softer, with so much love in it that it almost ached to see. "No, Simon, not alone. I'll stay with you. Zoe's with the babies, so they'll be okay."

"Zoe?"

"Yeah. She fell asleep telling 'em a tall tale about when she and the Cap were in the war."

"She was?"

"Suitably edited, I think. But it was funny, and she was doing all the voices, then the next thing I knew she was flat out on the cot next to Ben. Didn't have the heart to wake her."

"I'm surprised Hank didn't come looking for her."

"I think he'd had one too many, like Freya." She patted his hand. "Come on, 'fore you fall down."

"Okay, Mrs Tam."

"Like that," she murmured as they walked towards their quarters. "Really like that."

---

Hank was enjoying himself immensely. He'd won the last three pots after a dry spell where he folded as soon as he could, and this next one looked even better. He wanted to smile but kept his poker face as he thought of the padding he'd left in the bed to make it look like he was inside asleep. If he knew his Zoe she'd probably stay with Ben all night, so he had plenty of time to make this game count, and maybe the next, before he had to get back, the nest egg a healthy bit heavier.

The man opposite him, chewing on a foul-smelling cigar, glared at him and said, "Full house." He laid his cards on the table.

For just a moment Hank let him think he'd got him beat, then he placed his own cards down one at a time. "Four of a kind," he countered as the queens made their appearance.

The man's jaw dropped, and the cigar fell from his lips. Swearing, he stood up and started to brush at the embers burning into his pants. "How the hell did you get that?" he asked as Hank pulled the pot towards himself.

"Talent," the pilot explained. "Sheer talent." He grinned. "Another hand?"

His opponent sneered and gathered his last few coins, shoving them into his pocket. "_Qu ni made_," he growled, and stalked out of the bar.

"You know, I hate sore losers," Hank commented. He rubbed his hands together. "Gentlemen, now that he's gone, shall we up the ante?"

The rest of the players nodded, and he could see in their eyes that they were just waiting for him to make a mistake, to take all the cashey money out from under him.

"Sir?" He looked up. It was the girl who was dealing drinks. "This is for you." She put a glass at his elbow.

"For me?"

"From the gentleman at the bar." She nodded towards the long wooden counter, but he couldn't tell which one of the many men ranged there had sent the drink over.

"Tell him, thanks, but I ain't that way inclined," Hank joked.

"Oh, I don't think it was that," she said, leaning forward so he could get a good view of her cleavage. "I think he just admired the way you took Lennox down."

"That was his name?" When the girl nodded, he grinned. "Then tell him thanks."

"I will." She sashayed away, and for a split he watched the movement of her hips, then turned back to the table. "I think it's my deal," he said, taking the deck in one hand and the glass in the other. "Cheers."

---

His head was ringing. Literally. It felt like someone was standing in his brain, swinging wildly on a bell rope. And each hit of the clapper against metal sent a thrust of agony across his eyes and down his spine.

He tried to lick dried lips, but his tongue was like sandpaper, rasping unbearably. As his senses slowly returned, he thought he was lying on the ground, on his chest, but even that he wasn't sure of.

He needed something. Painkillers, for preference, but he'd take poison at this moment in time. Lots of it. Pretty much immediately, or he was going to die. _Please. Soon_.

The bells kept ringing as he tried to unglue his eyeballs, finding they hurt almost as much as the rest of him.

_Come on_, he said to himself. _Got to get up. Got to get back to … God, where?_ His brow furrowed. _Come on, Hank, you … oh, yeah, Hank. Least you know who you are now. But where do you need to get to?_ A vision of a dark-skinned woman swam into his mind, her arms crossed, and an expression of intense dissatisfaction on her face. _Ah. Zoe. I think you're my wife. Only a wife could look quite so pissed._ He smiled suddenly. _Serenity. Yes. That's it._

He managed to gather his wits enough to climb to his hands and knees, feeling dirt under his palms. With another effort of will he forced himself to his feet, leaning against the wall. _That's it_, he told himself. _Never again. Never, ever again._ He could feel his shirt sticking to his back damply as he pushed himself upright.

He cracked his eyes open a little, seeing light in front of him. _Go towards the light_, he heard his inner voice saying. _Is death supposed to be this painful?_ he responded, but wasn't surprised not to get an answer.

He was in an alleyway, he decided. Between two buildings. And the movement in the light was people. Good. Maybe they could tell him how to get back to the ship. He staggered forward, trying to get his legs under control.

As he reached the entrance, he tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry. Then he heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Dear God." An unknown voice, and all the people were staring at him.

"Mommy, why's that man got red all over him?" asked a child, holding onto a woman's hand, pointing at him.

Hank looked down, at his shirt, his hands. No. It couldn't be. Despite the pain from the excess of alcohol, he couldn't feel any injuries, and certainly nothing to account for all the blood. All the blood. Staining his white shirt. Blood. His mind rebelled. Not his. Somebody else's.

He turned slowly, looked back into the alley next to the white clapboard building, aware of a growing crowd of churchgoers in their Sunday best gathering behind him. He took a step forward, then another, then …

"_Tzao gao_ …"

He could see a foot. In a shoe. A woman's shoe, high-heeled and bright red. But the ankle was twisted, the leg at an unnatural angle. And there were drops of thick liquid on her calf.

He looked down at his hands.

A woman screamed behind him.

"Fetch the sheriff!" someone shouted.

"Hold him!"

"Don't let him run!"

And all he could do was look down at his hands …


	8. Chapter 8

Zoe turned over, or tried to, then realised she was lying on something other than her own bed. Running through the possibilities – from the hard ground in Serenity Valley to someone _else's_ bed – she realised the latter was nearer the mark. Especially when small hands touched her face.

"Mama," Ben said, tapping her cheeks. "Morning."

"I'm awake, I'm awake," she said, opening her eyes and smiling at her son.

"Mama." He grinned back, then coughed loudly, spattering her with tiny droplets. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Well, if I don't get it now I'll be surprised." She sat up on the cot as she wiped herself down and pulled Ben onto her lap. "How're you feeling today?" she asked, running her hand across his forehead.

He made a face. "Icky."

It was a word Bethie had been using whenever anyone asked how she was, and she could see he meant it. His skin was flushed and hot, and she could hear his chest was rolling with every breath. "I think we'd better get the doc to take a look at you."

"'Kay." He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

"I'm here," Simon said, stepping into the shuttle, his medical bag in his hand. "Is Ben feeling worse?"

"I think his temperature's higher."

"Well, let's see what we can do about that, shall we?" He smiled, sat down on the edge of the cot and pulled out his stethoscope, moving the little boy's pyjamas up so he could listen to his chest.

Ben studied him, watching every move. "Uncle Simon?" he asked carefully, pointing to the stethoscope. "Wanna play."

"In a minute, Ben." Simon was listening intently, moving the business end to different places, then Ben coughed again and he winced. Pulling the earpieces away he looked at Zoe. "He's congested, but I can give him something to help that." He took a small bottle out of his bag and measured a single dose. "Ben, you have to drink this."

The little boy screwed up his face in disgust, but opened his mouth, and as Simon poured the liquid inside he took advantage of the opportunity and picked up the stethoscope, putting the ends in his ears.

"Are his lungs okay?" Zoe wanted to know.

"A little fluid, but not enough to worry about." He held up his hand. "I know. You're his mother. You're going to worry. But it's still the early stages, and the antiviral will be ready by tomorrow night."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I'm sure." He smiled at the little boy, who was fiddling with the stethoscope, trying to hold it against his own chest. "Here. I'll hold it and you listen." He put it in the right place, and Ben's eyes went wide. "That's your heart," he explained. "Sending your blood around your body."

"Heart," Ben repeated. "Boom-boom. Boom-boom."

"That's it."

Zoe had to smile. "I think you might have a convert to medicine here, doc," she said.

"See if he likes having to operate on Jayne, then maybe I'll be convinced." Simon rolled his neck.

"Still tired?"

"Just aching."

"Maybe I should be checking your temperature."

He shrugged. "It's up. A little. But I can't afford to be sick. Not with Freya coming down with it too."

"Frey?" Zoe's eyes darted towards Ethan still lying asleep against the other wall of the shuttle.

"Mal woke me about four o'clock this morning." He stifled a chuckle. "Another reason I feel like _gos se_."

"Is she okay?"

"Complaining wildly, at least when I left, that there was nothing wrong with her." Having to deal with a naked Freya at that time of the morning had left him jaded, to say the least.

"Are you going to make her come in here? It's not like there's that much space."

"No. Not much point, not now the adults have started to come down with it." He looked down at Ben, still listening in awe to the sounds his internal body was making. "In fact, you might as well take this one back to your bunk."

Zoe thought for a moment, then said, "No. I think it's better if they stay here. Long as Kaylee don't mind looking after them, it'll be easier. And if I come down with it, and Hank too, there'll be nobody to do that."

"Very true. I hadn't thought of that." He smiled and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "I must be more tired that I realised."

"Well, you stay here and keep an eye on everyone while I go change." Zoe stood up, feeling her joints pop a little from the unnatural position she'd been sleeping in.

"No problem. If you come back and I'm asleep, just kick me. I've got to get back to the clinic to make sure the Virostim's working properly." He yawned. "I said I'd give Dr Stokes a hand, too, since his partner's sick."

"Simon, if you're coming down with this –"

"I've dosed myself up with antipyretics, a probably unhealthy mix of painkillers … I'll be fine."

"Simon …" She shook her head at him.

"I'm the doctor, Zoe. It's my privilege to be an idiot."

"I don't intend to disagree."

"Besides, if I _am_ sick then they can't give it to me."

She glared at him. "That's the most skewed logic I've ever heard that wasn't from the captain."

He laughed. "Thanks. I think. Anyway, you were going to change. Better go if you're going."

"Hmmn." Zoe narrowed her eyes, but ducked out of the doorway onto the catwalk, finding Jayne waiting for her.

"The doc inside?"

"That he is." Looking closer she could see the big man was worried. "River?"

He nodded. "Woke up a little while back, hotter'n hell. But she'd been tossing and turning all night anyway."

"She'll be okay."

"Know that. Saw the doc yesterday making sure o'that. Don't mean I ain't gonna be concerned." He stepped into the shuttle, allowing Zoe to carry on towards her bunk, marvelling at the changes one small, insistent, crazy girl had made in the big, bad mercenary.

Opening the hatch she started down the ladder, smiling as she saw the form in the bed. It looked like Hank had decided to have a lie in. Probably be good for him, she thought. Unless he was coming down with the measles too.

"Hank," she whispered. "You awake?"

There was no movement. Or sound. In fact, no sound at all, and Hank wasn't exactly a silent sleeper.

She crossed the room and put her hand on his shoulder. "Hank?" The blanket slid off to reveal a couple of pillows, bunched up so it looked like a man. "Gorramit," she murmured.

---

"No sign, Mal," Jayne said, heading back down into the cargo bay from the upper deck, Kaylee at his heels.

"He's not in the engine room either," the young mechanic added, her bright disposition submerged under more than just concern.

"Nor in any of the passenger dorms," Simon put in, joining them from the common area.

"Where the hell is that man?" Mal said, his hands on his hips, then turned to Kaylee. "You said he went out for a drink last night."

Jayne's head came up.

Kaylee rubbed her hands together. "Yeah. But I –"

"Are you sure you heard him come back?"

"I thought I did," she admitted, biting her lip. "Then when I looked into the bunk –"

"That was pillows, Kaylee," Zoe interrupted.

"Then … no, maybe I was wrong."

Mal took a deep breath. "Okay. So assuming he ain't lying somewhere on board we ain't thought of, bleeding from something I hope is terminal, then he's still in town. But what's he like to be doing there until this time of the morning?"

Simon and Jayne exchanged looks, then the big man seemed to growl low in his throat before saying, "Gambling."

Zoe turned on him. "What?"

"Gambling." Jayne felt more than a little uncomfortable under her thousand-watt glare. "He's been … I seen him, Zoe, before on Keyser. Playing cards. For cash."

Her face set, and it took those who knew her best to see the emotion under it, but all these people knew her very well indeed. "Really." Just one word, but with an entire library of meaning in it.

"He said he wasn't gonna," Kaylee put in before her mouth caught up with her brain. "I mean … last night … when he …"

The gaze turned to the young woman. "You knew?"

"No! I mean, not that he planned to … or that he did before … but I was just warning him not to." She glanced at Jayne. "I didn't know anyone'd seen him actually, you know, gambling."

Jayne became the focus again. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"Wasn't my place, Zoe."

"He's my husband."

"And I told him to stop. Said you'd prob'ly kill 'im when you found out." He took a step forward. "Zo, he don't think it's a problem. Won't admit it, even to himself."

"And addicts are good liars," Simon added. "They have to be."

"How many more know about this?" Zoe demanded, her voice getting just a little louder. "Sir?"

Mal held up his hands. "Hey, don't look at me. No-one did the decent thing and informed the captain, so I ain't getting involved in no argument." He touched her shoulder. "But can we find him first, 'fore you decide I have to go through all the hassle of hiring me another pilot?"

She glared at him, but inclined her head, just once. "Yes sir."

"Well, it'll have to be without me. I have to get to the clinic," Simon said. "Check on the antiviral."

Mal thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. Zoe, you can take the doc along to do his thing, since I don't think you can be trusted if you get to Hank first. Kaylee, you stay with the kids, make sure they got all they need. Jayne and I'll check all the bars."

"He's really late," Kaylee commented, her lip-worrying getting worse. "Maybe he's been hurt."

"He'll wish he was," Zoe muttered, striding up the stairs to get changed.

"You know, this boat'd be a whole sight better if there just weren't the people on board," Mal said to himself and anyone else still listening. "I'll be back in a sec. Just gonna tell Frey what's happening, grab my coat." He headed towards the upper bunks.

Jayne leaned against the cage, his brow furrowed. "How come things just don't wanna go right?" he said, crossing his arms.

"They are," Kaylee insisted. "Simon's getting the medicine for everyone, and the Cap won't let anything happen to Hank."

"Love how you look at things, little Kaylee. But I got the feeling they're gonna get a whole lot worse 'fore they get anywhere near better."

---

"I'll get dressed," Freya said, pushing the blankets away from her body.

"Oh no, you won't." Mal put his hand in the centre of her chest and pushed her back onto the bed. Very gently, tenderly, he covered her up again. "You're staying put."

"But you need –"

"I don't need you going out and making yourself worse. You know you're coming down with it, just like the kids."

She glared at him. "I'm fine."

"So me waking up to you feeling like you're a furnace is fine?" He pushed her sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead. "Frey, don't make me worry about you too."

"But I can help," she insisted.

"How? Can you tell me where Hank is?"

Her brow furrowed, then a look of intense annoyance washed over her. "Well …"

"Can you?"

"No," she admitted. "But that doesn't mean if I was outside I wouldn't be able to –"

"Frey, you're staying put."

"I'll stay with her," River said from the ladder, climbing down, her nightdress moving around her knees.

They both looked at her, noting the high colour on her usually pale complexion.

"You too, honey?" Freya said softly.

River nodded. "Jayne's put Caleb in with the other children. My husband is anxious."

"Not surprised." Mal put his arm around her shoulders. "So you and my wife gonna be bunkmates 'til I get back?"

"That was the idea."

Mal smiled. "Good one, albatross."

Freya sighed and lay back on the bed. "I'm really not going anywhere, am I?"

"Nope."

"What about Jesse?" She glanced into the nursery through the open door.

"Do you want me to take her to join Ethan?"

"She's not sick."

"Yet." River climbed up the bed and settled next to Freya, who put her arm around the young woman. "Will be. All will."

"Even me?" Mal asked, his eyebrows raising. "I thought I was captain. Captain's don't get sick."

"Tell that to the germs." She snuggled down.

"Mal, you comin'?" Jayne's voice boomed down the open hatch. "Zoe and the doc've already gone. And we gotta go find that _can sha_ fool 'fore he gets into any more trouble."

Mal shook his head. "And this from a man whose idea of recreation used to be –"

"Come on!"

---

Out in the streets of Monument City, it became apparent that something was up. People were standing around in groups, talking quietly, and the sight of Mal and Jayne, even without weapons, was making them stare.

The big man stepped closer to his captain. "You figure something's going on?"

Mal glanced at him. "On?"

"Seems like a lot of people look nervous."

"Not nervous, Jayne," Mal corrected, looking around at the people glaring at them. "Angry."

"Seen this kinda thing before. Just 'fore some fool tried to raise a lynch mob." He pulled at the collar of his t-shirt. "Wanted me to be the main attraction."

Mal nodded slowly. "I know what you mean." He pulled his com carefully from his pocket. "Zoe. You there?"

"_Sir. I was just about to call you._" His first mate's voice sounded odd, and not just from the reception. "_You need to get over to the sheriff's station, mah shong._"

Something cold crawled up Mal's spine and took root at the base of his brain. "Why, Zoe?"

"_There's been a murder. A man's been arrested. And according to Dr Stokes, it sounds like Hank_."


	9. Chapter 9

Mal and Jayne approached the sheriff's station, hearing the grumblings of the people clustered around getting louder. As they got closer, the words became more distinct.

"Heard tell he cut her up really bad."

"Mavis said there wasn't much left, just shreds. Shouldn't be allowed."

"Someone told me there was no blood left in the body."

"Shouldn't be allowed. Not here in our town."

"Someone should do something about it."

"Make sure that monster doesn't do it again."

"Shouldn't be allowed."

"Shouldn't be allowed."

"Shouldn't be –"

Mal stopped listening. As long as they were still at the 'shouldn't be allowed' stage, Hank was safe. It was when they reached the level of 'we're going to do something about it' that he'd start worrying.

Finally they were at the station, a squat building with high windows, across which a faint glitter announced a high energy forcefield protecting the glass. A look from Mal had Jayne wandering away, as if he had nothing better to do, when in fact he was going to check out the rear of the premises. At least the area in front was clear of people. Not that it mattered. As soon as Mal started for the door all conversation died behind him. He knocked loudly.

"Yeah?" The voice from inside was wary, and probably armed.

"My name's Malcolm Reynolds," he said, attempting to sound as unthreatening as possible. "I'm captain of the transport ship Serenity. And I believe you might be holding my pilot."

"What's his name?"

"Hank Mills."

There was a brief discussion inside, none of which Mal could understand, only hearing the dull murmur of voices.

Finally the response came. "Yeah. That's him."

Mal pushed the feeling of inevitable dread back down into his stomach. "I want to see him."

"Not letting you inside."

"He's my crew."

"And you got my sympathies on that fact. But he's been bound for murder, and that means until the judge sees him, he's not available."

"Just for a few minutes. To make sure –"

"I said no."

Mal swallowed back on the curse that wanted to spill out, and instead asked, "Can I ask who you are?"

"My name's Kuerk. I'm the sheriff, duly appointed by the people of Monument City to keep the peace. And your pilot's found himself on the wrong side of that duty."

"Is he okay?"

"Apart from the fact that he's pretty much scared shitless, yeah, he's fine."

"Does he say he's innocent?"

"Did you expect him to admit he was guilty?" Kuerk countered. "Now, like I said, you ain't gonna see him, so I'd be grateful if you'd just back away from the door and go on home to your ship. Which, by the way, won't be going anywhere until after this little matter is sorted out, just in case we need you as witnesses."

Mal took that to mean they were going to be landlocked, if they weren't already. Dammit, but every border moon seemed to be getting that technology nowadays. It was getting so that a man couldn't go about his own honest, nefarious business without his ship being tied up. Besides, he was getting tired of having a conversation with a door. "When does he go up before the judge?"

"We put a call in soon as we bound him. Arraignment will be this afternoon, then the judge will decide when to call the jury. But it'll be quick. We don't like to hang around on things like this." Kuerk's temper was evidently shortening. "You have to leave now."

"Tell him I was here."

There was no response, and Mal walked slowly away, the crowd parting in front of him, giving him space in case being a murderer was contagious.

Jayne loped out to join him. "What're you gonna do?"

"You heard?"

"Yeah. And if you're considering breaking him out, it ain't gonna be easy. This place might look like it's come straight out the Ark, but there's high tech security zinging all over it. Plus which there's at least two guys inside, and they ain't likely to be above shooting Hank just so's we don't get him out."

"That was my reading of the situation too."

"So what now?"

"I'm gonna find a Cortex booth. And you're going to call Zoe, get her down here." He handed the big man the comlink.

"What about the doc?"

"Tell him to stay at the clinic. One of us will come and pick him up."

"And if this crowd gets more antsy? You think you can fight 'em off single-handed?"

Mal almost smiled. "Never thought I'd see the day I'd be pleased a town didn't allow guns. I might not be armed, but neither are they."

---

"He'll be fine," Simon said, repeating the same words he'd been saying all along. "He didn't do this."

"I know." Zoe was staring out of the window, her arms crossed.

"Mal will find a way out of this, and we'll get the antiviral and be gone."

"Yes."

Simon looked at her, the anger radiating off her like heat, and for one long moment was glad Zoe wasn't mad at him.

Stokes stepped into the room. "They've brought her here," he said, his voice dull. "Only place in town that's even anywhere near capable of handling a body. I've put her in the morgue." He barked a laugh, lacking in all humour. "Kind of like every other day. She should be at work, anyway."

"Work?" Simon looked confused.

"Didn't you realise? Didn't I say? The woman who died … it's Rita."

Simon was startled. "Your receptionist?"

"Rita Hammond. My partner's wife."

"I ..." Simon thought back to the day before, the woman who'd shown them the way, and he was appalled to realise he didn't even remember what she looked like. "I'm sorry."

"At least Stan's too sick to be told." He quickly added by way of explanation, "Stan Hammond."

"Oh, yes."

"Anyway, the deputy who brought her said they want me to do ... to do an autopsy, but I ..." He rubbed his hands across his face. "I can't."

"I understand she was your friend, but –"

"That's not the point. It's true, but not the reason. I'm not a pathologist," Stokes clarified. "The most I've ever done is in certifying that a man got killed because his horse rolled on him. And no-one ever accused the horse of murder."

"Don't you ever have suspicious deaths here?"

"Of course. But mostly people know who did it."

"That's not exactly very scientific." Simon pushed his hair from his forehead, idly noting the dampness of his skin at the same time.

"We're not Core, here, Simon. Things are done somewhat differently. Besides, Stan was ... _is_ the coroner. It's his responsibility to do that kind of thing. But it wouldn't be ethical for him to carry out the autopsy. Not on his own wife. Even if he wasn't sick."

"Not just unethical."

"No. No, of course not." Stokes took a hesitant step forward. "And that's why I need your help. You're not just a medic, are you?"

"That's his job," Zoe put in quickly. "On board."

"But not just that." Stokes took a deep breath, looking back at Simon. "I think you've had a lot more training than you're wanting to admit. In fact I'd be willing to bet you've been board approved." He glanced at the ViroStim, still working away in the corner. "There's not many who are _just_ a medic who could get that going. And things you've said, going round the wards. You're a doctor. Probably a hell of a lot better qualified than me."

Zoe stirred, her hand a bare few inches from the knife she had settled into the back of her waistband. "I think that's enough," she said quietly.

Stokes ignored her. "I don't care about the reason you're out here. Whether you were disbarred, or you had a breakdown, or whether you're a crook on the run from the Alliance. I'm asking, as one doctor to another, for your help."

Simon didn't deny anything, just looked steadily at the other man. "I'm also Hank's friend. Won't people think I'm just trying to cover up for him?"

"Would you?"

"No. I don't believe he did this, but I'm not going to destroy evidence just to prove it."

"Good. But I take your point. So we don't tell anyone. I'll assist, and then if any questions do get asked, I'll deal with them. We won't be lying. Just … stretching the truth a little."

Simon glanced at Zoe, who nodded slowly. "Okay," he said. "I'll do it." He ran his hand over his forehead again, feeling the sweat beading on his skin. "And probably the sooner the better."

Stokes grinned. "Great! And thanks."

The comlink on the table buzzed, and Zoe picked it up. "Yes?"

"_Zoe, Mal wants you at the sheriff's station. He can't get in, thinks you might have more luck as the wife."_

"What about Simon?"

"_Tell him not to go anywhere."_

"I won't be," the young man said, taking off his jacket. "I've got work to do."

---

Stewart Macallum looked out of the screen. "I'm not sure what you think I can do, Captain."

"You said you're an influence in this town. I need to see my pilot. Make sure he's okay. Make sure he isn't being railroaded into something he didn't do."

Macallum shook his head. "Kuerk's a good man. The evidence must be pretty certain for him to have bound your friend."

"I wouldn't know. I ain't been allowed to see that either."

Mary Macallum appeared at her husband's shoulder. "I never did like that woman, every time we had to go to the clinic."

"Mary!" He was shocked.

"Well, I didn't. She always made me want to slap her. Either she was being all obsequious 'cause you've got money, or she was making out we thought we were above her."

"Well, the poor woman's dead now, so she won't be doing that anymore."

Mary didn't look in the least bit ashamed of herself. "No-one's going to miss her that much," she said, turning on her heel and disappearing off screen.

Macallum glared after her then looked at Mal. "Maybe I can talk some sense into Rudi Kuerk. Better be face to face, though."

"I can come get you in the hover –"

The old man smiled. "We're not as backwards as all that, Captain. Just because I choose to use the buckboard doesn't mean I have to. It's all about image, and old-fashioned morals. Make folks around here believe I know the meaning of family values." He nodded. "I'll be with you in less than fifteen minutes."

---

Macallum was better than as his word. In something like twelve minutes a fast, modern groundcar pulled up by the sheriff's station, and he climbed out. "Captain."

"Sir."

"Sorry to meet again under these circumstances."

"Yeah."

"Let's see what we can do." He strode to the jail door.

Kuerk was still insistent. "I can't do it, Stewart. You know the rules."

"And I know who made them. The city council, of whom I'm the head. And I think a little discretion is better in the long run, don't you?" He glanced at Mal. "The Captain here isn't armed. And I'm sure you're going to have Warner standing by all the time. There's little Reynolds can do except talk to his man."

"Stewart –"

"You can't deny them access, Rudi," Macallum said, his tone changing, becoming firmer. "No matter what you think he's done, that man is innocent until proven guilty. We might be a long way from the Core, but we're civilised, and that's a basic tenet of civilisation. He's innocent until the judge says otherwise."

There was silence from inside, then there was the sound of locks being disengaged, and the door opened. Sheriff Rudi Kuerk, his hands cradling a very efficient-looking rifle, stepped into the light. "One at a time. No more."

"Deal." Macallum turned to Serenity's captain. "Happy?"

"Thanks." He held out his hand, but Macallum shook his head.

"Don't be thanking me yet," the older man warned. "If your pilot is guilty, he's going to hang, no matter how many people they let in to see him." He strode back to his groundcar and left, the dust swirling in his wake.

"This way," Kuerk said, jerking his head towards the back, his long red ponytail flicking.

Mal stepped inside, noting two deputies, each armed with handguns and rifles, as well as cameras in each corner of the room. Jayne was right – if it came down to it, springing Hank was going to be hard and dangerous.

"Warner, take him in."

"Yes, boss." One of the deputies, a youngish man not much older than Simon, opened another door, this one heavy steel. Oh, yes. Damn dangerous.

"Thanks," Mal said.

"Stay with him," Kuerk ordered.

"Wasn't going to do otherwise." Warner followed Mal through into a corridor where all sound was deadened, adding, "Last door."

"You get much call on your services?" Mal asked conversationally.

"Not much. Folks are pretty law-abiding around here. The odd marital discord, fights in the saloon on a Friday night, that kind of thing. But we ain't had a murder in over a year. And that was a man hit another with a bottle during an argument."

Mal stopped. "And he got tried for murder 'cause of that?"

"Yeah. Right before we hung him." He opened the door. "Be my guest."

Mal stepped through, and saw his pilot sitting in a small cell, his head down, hands clasped between his knees. He was wearing a bright green jumpsuit.

"Hank."

His head jerked up, and despite his circumstances a grin plastered itself across his face. He was on his feet and grasping the bars in a moment. "Mal! _Wu de muh_! I thought I was here to rot. You come to get me out?"

"Not yet. But you can tell me what happened." He glanced down. "Although starting with the change of attire would be good."

"They took my clothes," Hank said in explanation. "Said they needed them for evidence." He shuddered slightly. "Not that I want to keep them. They're covered in blood."

"Whose?"

"Not mine." His knuckles went white on the bars. "Mal, I didn't do this. Whatever happened, it wasn't me."

Mal hitched his thumbs in his pockets. "A woman's dead. Knifed. And it appears they found you with the body."

"I know. But I didn't kill her."

"You're sure of that?"

"I couldn't!" He leaned forward, until his face was pressed against the cold metal. "You know I couldn't. Gorramit, Mal, I can't even fire a gun at someone without feeling guilty about it after."

"Did you know her?"

Hank shook his head. "They wouldn't let me see. I woke up in the alley, and the next thing I can remember is being dragged along the streets and into here. I got stripped, put into this damn cell and left." He licked dry lips. "I didn't do it, Mal."

"Were you gambling?"

This time guilt flashed across the pilot's face. "Just a hand or two. To relax. After all the things that've been happening, the measles and everything. That was all."

"You lied to Kaylee about where you were going. How do I know you ain't lying about killing that woman?"

"It's not the same thing, Mal!" Hank was desperate for his captain to believe him. "I didn't kill anyone!"

Mal studied him, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the pallor. "Okay," he finally said. "I believe you." He saw Hank relax. "But someone did, and they've decided to pin it on you. So what do we do about it?"

"Prove it wasn't me?"

"Might be easier said than done."

"I can't spend much longer here, Mal." He glanced around the small room. "I ... I just can't."

Now Mal understood some of the panic. "Your claustrophobia playing up?"

"A little." Hank managed a shaky grin. "Here's me, a big strong guy, and I get worried about cramped spaces."

"It ain't that small."

"And I can't get out."

"No. Point taken. I'll see what I can do."

A muffled conversation in the corridor behind them registered, and Warner looked in. "There's some woman outside. Says she's his wife."

"Zoe!" Hank was almost ecstatic. "Mal, please, I need to see her."

"One at a time," Warner said firmly.

"I'll go, try and get this sorted out." Mal turned to the door. "I'm trusting you, Hank."

"I'm worthy of it, Mal."

"Well, that's to be seen."

Out in the main office, Zoe stood up as Mal came through the door. "How is he, sir?" she asked.

"Scared. And angry. Pretty much as you'd expect."

"Yes."

"Just don't be ... go easy on him, Zo."

"Sir." It was about as non-commital a reply as she could give, and he watched her as she followed Warner into the back.

"I have to say, he's got good friends," Kuerk commented, sitting down behind one of the desks. "Most folks would've just turned tail and run."

"He's my crew."

"I've dealt with some who haven't seen it that way. Particularly over murder."

"And you're sure it was? Murder?"

"No, I think she knifed herself half a dozen times in the chest." Kuerk looked at him. "I'll let your friend out now, shall I?"

"Sorry. But maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Mal suggested. "Some woman was being attacked, Hank decides to play the hero and try and save her, and gets mugged for his trouble."

"No bruises," Kuerk said, resting his feet up on the desk. "No sign he'd been hit, or any other injuries." He fixed Mal with a glare. "We do know our job, Captain Reynolds." He reached into the drawer. "Besides, if he was mugged or attacked, they wouldn't have left this on him, would they?" He tossed a small pouch to Mal, who opened it and looked inside. "There's near a thousand in there. Folks in the bar he was playing in said he was good, and won most of that. They also said he left with a woman. With Rita Hammond."

"The dead woman?"

"That's the one." Kuerk pulled a small cheroot from his pocket. "The very same one who we found your pilot in the vicinity of, covered in her blood, the knife not ten feet away. Now ... you tell me. Guilty or not?"

---

"I'm innocent, Zoe." He reached out for her, but she stayed back.

"I know that. You didn't kill anyone."

"No." He tried again. "Can't I just ... Zoe, please."

"You were gambling."

"No, I –"

"You were gambling, and got into trouble from it."

"Zoe –"

"I should leave you here." Zoe's eyes were hard, like points of ice. "To stew in your own juice."

"I didn't do it!" He reached through the bars, trying to touch her.

"Like I said, I know. But if you hadn't been out, breaking your promise to me and Ben, you wouldn't be bound now."

"It was for us! For when we get tired of travelling, want to put down roots. So we could buy a place where Ben can … where are you going?"

"You keep telling yourself that," she threw over her shoulder. "It'll help keep you warm at night. You're gonna need it." She strode out.

"Zoe?" Hank's voice followed her out. "Zoe! Come back! Please, Zo, come –" It was cut off as the door slammed closed.


	10. Chapter 10

"_Liang shui_?"

Hank looked up. "What?" He was curled up on the bed, his mind going over and over what Zoe had said, how she'd just left him, walking out of his life without even a backward glance.

The deputy was standing outside the cell, holding up a can of water. "You thirsty?"

"Dying from it," the pilot admitted.

"Okay. Step back." He waited until Hank had pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to lean against the rear wall, before opening a small door in the bars. He slid the can through. "Here. If you need more, say."

"Thanks." Hank picked up the container and broke the seal, letting the cold liquid fill his mouth and soothe his throat.

"You want something to eat?" the deputy asked, not unsympathetically. "I can get Louanne over at the restaurant to make you something."

Hank lowered the water, shaking his head. "No, I ... no, thanks." He couldn't even think about food, not with his stomach churning the way it was.

"Well, that changes, you let me know. The sheriff wants me to stay with you, so if you need anything, just say."

"How about to get out of here?"

"Now, I don't think that's likely, do you?"

Hank shrugged. "Thought I'd try." He sat down on the bed again. "What's your name?" he asked. "Since we're going to be spending some time together."

"Warner."

"Something Warner, or Warner something?"

"Just Warner."

"Okay, Just Warner. I'm Hank."

"I know."

"Of course you do." He took another drink, feeling it ease his belly a little. "So what happens now?"

"In a little while you go up before the judge, and he decides if there's a case to answer. Then he sets a trial date."

Hank licked his lips. "How ... how long until –"

"Not normally more'n a coupla days. Just long enough to convene a jury and make sure they're gonna come to a safe verdict."

"I didn't do this."

"Then all you gotta do is prove it."

Hank sat back, trying to remember the events of the previous night, but he kept coming up blank. "And if I can't?"

Warner adjusted his gunbelt. "Folks around here tend to look on things pretty literally. You take a life, they take yours."

"Hanging?" Hank tried to swallow but it was as if the noose was already around his neck. He took a quick gulp of water, feeling it slide past the restriction in his throat.

"Yeah. Truth is, that verdict comes down and it's guilty, I'll be leading you outside myself." Warner shrugged. "My job."

"It's okay. I get that. I'd just rather it never got that far."

Warner perched on the only furniture outside the cell, a tall stool, not designed for comfort. "You shoulda come here before."

"What?"

"See, if it'd been coupla weeks ago, you might've been able to claim _Wai Gan_."

"What's that?" Hank was interested, despite himself.

"Local law. We get the wind from the mountains sometimes, and it sweeps the heat down, pushes the clean air back into the sea. If it blows for more'n a month then the courts tend to look easy on people who break the law. Something to do with it sending 'em crazy. Probably all the biting insects it brings with it."

"And it happened back then?"

"Yep. Weathercock changed eight days ago, broke the dry spell. Pity."

Hank took a deep breath. "You know I didn't do this."

"That's what they all say. Ain't had a one come through this jail said they were guilty."

"And? Were they?"

"Wouldn't know. Judge said they were, and that was that."

"That was what?"

"We don't look kindly on murderers. Short walk from the courthouse, shorter drop." He nodded towards the high window. "They got the gallows ready to go out back. No point in delaying the inevitable."

"Don't I get a chance to appeal?"

"Never happened before."

The pilot felt sweat spring out on his forehead. "How many? I mean, what kind of percentage are we talking about here?"

"Don't know about that," Warner said. "Never was much good at my sums, which is probably why I'm working here looking after people like you. But out of the last ten who've gone the system, only two of 'em were released."

Eighty percent. Dear God, eighty percent got hanged. Hank sat back, his mouth slack.

"A'course, you're lucky that old man Ging Lao died, and it's Judge Temple now."

"Oh?"

"Ging liked to make sure he was hanging the right people, and wasn't above some of the old _yin xing_ to make sure."

"Torture?" Hank felt faint.

"Temple hardly ever orders it. Unless he doesn't like your face."

Sheriff Kuerk appeared in the doorway. "Time," he said.

"What?" Hank scrabbled to his feet.

Warner half-smiled. "Not that. Not yet. You just gotta go see the judge."

Hank felt a little of the tension leave, but only a little. "Oh, yeah. Right. You said."

Kuerk lifted up a set of restraints. "Come on."

---

Simon pulled the bloodstained gloves from his hands and dropped them onto the tray.

"I still don't believe it," Stokes was saying, leaning against the counter, staring at the shrouded body on the table.

"About twelve weeks," Simon confirmed.

"But pregnant?" Stokes shook his head. "How am I going to tell Stan that his wife isn't the only one dead?"

"Are you sure it's his?"

Stokes stared at him. "What are you saying?"

The younger man took a deep breath, trying to calm the headache pounding behind his eyes. He really needed to get another shot. "Just making an observation."

"Well, don't. People around here don't take kindly to suggestions of adultery."

Simon turned to gather the samples he'd taken. "But you didn't know? That she was pregnant?"

"No. No, I didn't." Stokes paused. "She'd had a miscarriage a year ago. Perhaps she didn't want to know. In case it happened again."

"Perhaps. But I still think I should do a DNA test on the foetal tissue."

"What? Why?" Stokes crossed the room, pulling Simon around to face him. "Why can't we just let her rest in peace? And what will it prove?"

"Reasonable doubt." Simon extricated his arm. "It won't prove Hank's innocence, but it might give someone else a motive. Like you said, Monument City doesn't look well on adultery." He picked up the tray. "And right now, Hank needs all the help he can get."

---

Hank hadn't even seen the sky. Not that he minded too much. A glimpse of the blue above him might have alleviated his claustrophobia, but if he'd seen the gallows, beckoning to him ... he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself. But the judge's chambers were situated in the same building as the sheriff's office, at the rear, and he hadn't even got a whiff of fresh air. That was, however, all forgotten when he realised Mal was waiting for him.

"What're you doing here?" he asked, but didn't wait for an answer. "How's Zoe? She left so fast I didn't get a chance to ... how is she?"

"Angry." Mal spoke quietly. "Give her time, Hank."

"Time?" The pilot gave a snort of laughter. "I'm beginning to think I don't exactly have much of that left."

"We're working on it." Mal glanced at the sheriff and deputy. "Jayne's out, trying to get any info, and Simon's looking at the body. We'll deal with this, Hank." He looked down at the restraints, cuffing Hank's wrists together in front of him. "Are these entirely necessary?" he asked, glaring at Kuerk.

"Murder suspect," the sheriff said shortly.

"It's okay, Mal," Hank said quickly. "They're not ... it's okay."

The other door opened and Judge Milo Temple swept in, a young woman with a recording machine behind him. About the same age as Macallum, it was evident he'd lost his hair quite some time back, and apparently spent a lot of time outdoors, as his bald dome was almost the colour of polished maple, but his eyes showed a fierce intelligence.

"We ready for this, Rudi?" he asked, settling himself behind his desk.

"We are, your honour."

"Then let's not waste time. How do you plead?" he asked, glaring at Hank standing in front of him.

"Not ... not guilty, sir," the pilot managed to stammer out.

"So noted. And do you have representation?"

"Yes, sir." Mal stepped forward. "That'd be me."

"And are you legally qualified?"

Mal shook his head. "Not as such, your honour. But he's my pilot, so I'm kinda responsible for him."

"Then I'd have to say you're not doing a very good job." His blue eyes were almost colourless. "And your name?"

"Malcolm Reynolds."

Temple glanced at his secretary. "Also noted." He looked at Kuerk. "So. What have you got to tell me?"

"The accused, Hank Mills, was seen in Lynmyer's place, playing cards. Winning, too. About midnight he got up and went to the bar, saying he was going to buy a round. There he was seen talking to the deceased."

"Witnesses?"

"Plenty as'll testify."

"Go on."

"Just a little after eight a.m. this morning he was seen staggering from the alley next to St Frida's, covered in blood. My office was called, and we found the body of Rita Hammond in said alley, dead."

"Cause?"

"Apparent stab wounds to the chest. There was a knife with blood on it a few feet away."

"Fingerprints?"

"Mostly smeared, but there was a good thumb print. A match to the accused."

"Did the defendant say anything?"

"He seemed to be in shock more than anything. He kept staring at his hands and saying he didn't do it."

Temple sat back, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I presume you've got witnesses to all this too?"

"Yes, your honour."

"Can I ask –" Mal began, but Temple held up a hand.

"No, you can't. This isn't the court, so you can't cross examine. This is just for me to get the facts as we know them from the sheriff here, and for you to hear the evidence against your cli – against your friend." He looked back at Kuerk. "Anything else?"

"We took his clothes, and DNA analysis proves the blood on them is a match to the deceased."

"But no confession."

"No, your honour."

Temple pursed his lips slightly, and considered. It took him so long Mal began to get jittery, but finally he sat forward and said, "There's a case to answer. And justice has to be seen to be done." He fixed Hank with his pale eyes. "Trial is set for the day after tomorrow. That makes it ..." He glanced at his secretary.

"The fifteenth, sir."

"The fifteenth it is." He stood up. "And if I were you, I'd seriously look into getting professional counsel. You're going to need it." Temple strode out, his secretary following.

Mal pulled Hank to one side. "Do you remember any of that?" he asked, keeping his voice to a whisper.

"No," Hank admitted. "The cards, yes, but not the woman, or ..." He swallowed. "Mal, I didn't have that much to drink. You know me. When I drink I lose my edge, and they said I was winning."

"That they did."

Kuerk stepped between them. "Enough. You can visit him later, if you need. Warner, take him back to his cell."

"Yes, boss." The deputy prodded Hank in the back with his rifle.

Moving towards the door, Hank looked over his shoulder. "Mal, can you ask Zoe to come see me? I need to talk to her. Properly. To apologise. To explain. Please."

"I'll ask."

"Thanks." The door closed behind him.

"You can come this way," Kuerk said, indicating the exit the judge had used.

Mal stopped the sheriff with a hand to the arm. "Did you take a blood test?"

"Didn't need to," Kuerk said. "Her blood was –"

"Not hers. His."

Kuerk's eyes narrowed. "You think he was drugged?"

"It's a possibility."

"But it doesn't prove he didn't kill her." Kuerk lowered his voice. "Look, not many had a good word to say about Rita. She came here with nothing, married the doc because she thought it would give her status in town. But all it did was make her bored. That was why she started working at the clinic, just for something to do. So maybe she doped your man. Maybe she even tried to roll him for his cash. That doesn't give anyone the right to kill her. And it just gives him a motive."

"Or gave someone else the opportunity." Mal was insistent. "Take some blood. Let me get it tested."

"No point."

"Every point. And if you don't want me to do it, get it done yourself." He moved a step closer. "You've already had Macallum pointing out that a man is innocent until proven guilty. Do you want me to start telling him you're obstructing his defence too?"

Kuerk glared at him, then laughed unexpectedly. "Old Judge Temple was wrong. I think maybe your pilot has the right man representing him." He collected himself. "Okay. I'll take a sample, send it to Doc Stokes. And we'll see."

---

Back at the ship, Mal found Zoe sitting in the galley, a mug of cold coffee in front of her. "Can I warm that up for you?" he asked, heading behind the counter and checking the pot.

"No, thank you, sir."

He took a cup from the cupboard, running his fingers around the inside from habit. "I just left Hank."

"Really."

"The trial's been set for two days time."

"Has he been bailed?"

"I don't think they do that here, Zo. It wasn't even mentioned." He poured some of the dark liquid into his mug. "You sure I can't tempt you?"

She shook her head. "I think Jayne made it this morning."

He took a mouthful, and it was all he could do not to spit it out. It tasted like tar. "Gah!" Swallowing painfully, he poured the remainder in his mug away, the contents of the pot following it. "That man must have a cast iron stomach," he commented, taking a drink of water to attempt to wash the flavour away.

"I believe he does."

Mal sat down opposite his first mate. "Zoe, he was asking for you."

"Jayne?"

"Yes, Jayne." He sighed heavily. "No, of course not Jayne. Hank."

"I don't want to see him."

"Zoe, the man's been bound for murder. If they find him guilty they're going to hang him."

Her eyes, dark pools, gazed at him. "He lied to me. To all of us. You expect me to forgive that?"

"Not ... forgive. Understand, maybe."

"Why?"

"Gorramit, Zoe, he's your husband!"

"And I'm beginning to wonder if that wasn't a mistake."

Mal stared at her, but her expression didn't change. "Are you serious?"

"He promised me. And I believed him. I trusted him." She stood up. "I don't know whether I ever will again."

"Well, give it a couple of days and you won't need to try," Mal said, his tone harsher than he intended.

"I'm going to bed."

"It's barely ..." He stopped at the look on her face. "Okay. I'll ask Kaylee to put some food aside for you."

"That's not necessary, sir." She walked out of the galley.

Mal watched her go, her back as straight as a ramrod, shoulders solid. He'd not seen her as angry as this for a long while. Not really since Wash died. Then her anger had been more or less equally divided between Wash for dying, the Reavers and Alliance for killing him, and Mal himself for letting it happen. It had taken her months before they'd got back to anywhere near the way they'd been before, and sometimes he wondered if they ever had. The ache of that memory made his own temper flare. Pushing his chair back so hard it fell over, he strode after her, catching her just as she opened the hatch to her bunk. He took her arm, turning her to look at him.

"No, Zoe," he said, his voice firm, still gentle but definitely in command. "It's not going down like this."

"Sir, I –" She tried to pull away but he held fast.

"No. You're gonna do the listening this time." He shook his head slightly. "Hank's stupid. We can all agree on that. He's pushed this thing about as close to the edge as he can, without actually going over. And the only thing that's stopping him falling is you and Ben."

"Sir, it really is none of your –"

"Maybe not. But I'm still captain. He's my pilot, you're my first mate. More than that, you're my friends. Hell, Zoe, you're my family. I'm not gonna stand by and see you lose something you can't afford to."

"You think that's going to happen?"

"I know it." He let go of her arm. "He needs help. To admit he has a problem in the first place, and to deal with it. And we'll get it for him. But that's something for the future. At least for after the trial. 'Cause if it goes badly, we won't need to worry." He moved closer until he could feel the heat from her body. "Zoe, he needs you. I'm not sure he's going to get through this palaver without you."

Something like panic finally crossed her features. "Mal, please."

"You're going to see him. First thing tomorrow."

The panic turned to surprise. "Not tonight?"

"No. I've a notion he needs to stew a while longer."

He felt her relax a notch. "Tomorrow," she agreed, dropping down into her bunk, the hatch closing above her.

Mal sighed, leaning on the bulkhead. He had no idea whether Hank had done irreparable damage to that union or not. Maybe, once this was all over, he'd be finding himself another pilot anyway. But maybe he'd given them a fighting chance. He pushed himself straight and went to find his own wife.

---

"You should be in bed."

Freya looked up from where she was perched on the edge of Ethan's cot. Mal stood in the doorway to the shuttle. "I'm fine," she said, dropping her head back to gaze at her son. She brushed his hair from his sleeping face.

"Sure." He stepped inside, going down onto his heels next to her. "And you could've slipped on the ladder, or fallen over the catwalk ..." He put his hand on her thigh. "You ain't well enough to go wandering Serenity, _xin gan_."

"It wasn't far." She smiled at him. "I needed to see Ethan."

He looked at his boy. "Is he okay?"

"Fussy." She stroked his hair again. "Sleeping now, though."

"I can see that." He lowered himself to the deck so he was sitting down, drawing his knees up and resting his forearms on them. "Is he picking up on this?"

Freya nodded. "He's upset. _More_ than upset. Keeps asking where Uncle Hank is."

"Well, right now, Uncle Hank is locked up, and from what they said at the arraignment, it ain't likely he's coming home too soon."

"Tell me."

Mal went over the details as he knew them, leaving out the medical facts in case any of the children were still awake, but knowing she could pick them out of this mind if she wanted.

"Another woman?" Freya asked as he finished. "That I can't believe. That man waited _years_ for Zoe, and they've only been married a few months ... why would he go with someone else now?"

"I don't know, Frey. But apparently there's witnesses who say he left the bar with her."

"Rita Hammond."

"Yeah. And the blood on him, the knife ..." Mal leaned his head on the cot. "He really is deep in the _goushi_." He rolled his neck so he could look at her. "_Ai ren_, can you see anything? Tell me who did this?"

Freya slid carefully to the floor so she could lean on him. "No. I can't reach any further than your thoughts, and that's an effort."

He put his arm around her. "The infection?"

"I think so. River's feeling the same, and I don't think Bethie's in any fit state to ask." She glanced over to the other cot where the little girl was fast asleep, clutching her green rabbit. She was twitching slightly as she dreamed.

"So nothing?" When Freya paused, he turned enough so he could look directly into her eyes. "Frey, what is it?"

"I don't know. Just a feeling. Not even that. An impression."

"Of what?"

"Love."

"What?"

"No. Sorry. Not love. Obsession, maybe."

"Hank? His gambling?"

"I don't know." She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's all just –"

"Cotton candy?"

"Yes."

"Never mind." He pulled her closer. "And don't try and force it. We've got time to prove Hank's innocent."

"And if we can't?"

"Then I'm gonna have to plan for that eventuality too."


	11. Chapter 11

Hank was dreaming. He and Zoe were on a beach, blue sky above them, brightly plumed birds singing in the trees behind, and crystal clear waves lapping at their feet as they lay on the sand making love. He had just kissed her all the way down from her earlobe to her waist, and was about to continue further when a shadow loomed over him, shaking his shoulder.

"Come on," it said. "It's time."

"Time?" Hank struggled out of sleep. "Time for what?" His eyes focused on the deputy's face.

"Come on." Warner pulled him to his feet, fastening his hands with the restraints.

"Where are we going?" Hank blinked hard, trying to clear his eyes.

"Outside."

"Why?"

"You'll see." Warner smiled and gently pushed Hank towards the door.

Moving as directed, Hank looked over his shoulder. "What's going on?"

"Just some business." He prodded Hank again. "Come on. We don't got all day."

"But it's still night."

"Nope. Dawn's breaking. Kinda traditional." He reached around Hank to open another door, and the scent of fresh air drifted in. "Just through here."

Hank stepped outside, peering into the gloom. "There's nothing ..." Then his eyes adjusted, and he could see a frame a dozen yards ahead, the unpainted wood stark against the darkness. "No ..."

"Now come on," Warner said. "It's undignified to make a fuss. Besides, everyone's waiting."

Suddenly Hank realised the space between him and ... it ... was full of people, moving to either side like the parting of the Red Sea to let them through. He pulled back. "No, look, this isn't right. I'm innocent." He twisted to look into the deputy's face. "Warner, I ain't even been tried yet!"

"Well, the good citizens of Monument decided they didn't need to wait." He nodded towards the gallows, surrounded by eager faces lit by the rays of the rising sun. "All the evidence points to you, and your Captain's not found anything to the contrary. So the Judge decided not to waste tax-payers money." He gave Hank a push, harder this time. "Come on. Don't want to keep your audience waiting."

"Please. Don't do this." He stumbled at another push, almost falling to his knees.

"You okay?" Warner asked, lifting him back up. "Don't want you breaking your neck, do we?" He grinned and half-carried the other man towards the scaffold.

"Don't do this!"

"Don't worry yourself so," Warner advised. "I told you before. We're firm believers in the eye-for-an-eye kind of justice in this town. And it'll be over quick."

Suddenly they were at the steps, and Hank was manhandled up. He gaped at the crowd, trying to find someone who would stop this, panic making him search every face until he heard a voice he recognised, raised in anger. He focused on it, his heart leaping as he saw Mal and Jayne, struggling to break free of the men holding them.

"Mal! Help me!" he screamed.

"This ain't right!" Mal shouted. "I ain't presented my evidence! I can prove he's innocent!"

"Gorramit, let me go!" Jayne added. "Didn't you hear him? We got proof!"

Warner shrugged. "Too late for that now."

Hank locked gaze with Mal for a moment, saw the knowledge that they couldn't do anything, even as he still fought to get through. Then his eyes caught another figure.

"Zoe. Zoe!" She was at the front, her arms folded across her chest, no expression on her face. "Help me!"

"Why? You brought this on yourself." She didn't move.

"I didn't do it!"

"You lied to me. Broke your promise. This is what happens when you do that." She turned and walked away, past Mal and Jayne, barely acknowledging them.

"No ..." He watched his wife until she was gone, not looking back, not even once. All the fight drained from him and he let the deputy put him into position on the trapdoor.

Warner smiled encouragingly. "That's it. You just take it like a man." He lifted up a bag-like hood. "This is just so the good folks don't get upset." He dropped it over Hank's head, and suddenly his world existed only of the coarse linen against his cheeks and the rushing sound of the blood in his ears as his heart tried to get in as many beats as it could before it was stopped forever. Even Mal's shouts were muted, as if he was a long way off.

Something settled around his neck, and he realised it was the rope. Now he could hear his own panting, drawing the cloth of the hood into his mouth with every breath. It smelled of fear, of the last man to die wearing it. Losing control of his bladder, he felt warmth against his leg and felt ashamed that everyone would be able to see.

"Anything you wanna say 'fore sentence is carried out?" Warner asked.

"Zoe." He couldn't get anything else past his lips, and he knew no-one had heard, not even in the sudden, expectant silence.

"Okay then." There was the creak of wood on wood, then a snap, and he was falling, dropping into eternity as the rope tightened on his neck ...

"Hey, you okay?"

He struggled to breathe, drawing a ragged breath into his mouth, tasting fabric.

"Hey, wake up."

Hank opened his eyes, pushing the sheet away from his face, and focused on Warner's slightly worried face outside the bars. "Wha ..."

"You were dreaming," the deputy said, sitting back onto the stool. "And I ain't sure it was a good one."

"Uh ... no. No, it wasn't." The pilot sat up, rubbing at his face with his hands, and surreptitiously feeling his neck.

"I think I can guess."

"What?"

"What you were dreaming about. It's pretty common. The prospect of getting hanged does that to a man."

"Really. That's nice to know." He scooted back in the bed and sat against the wall, trying to get his heartbeat back under control.

"Here." Warner pushed an opened can of water through the bars. "You wanna talk about it?"

Hank took it, swallowed a mouthful then said, "Not ... no."

"Just thought you might. Sometimes if you talk about things, it makes 'em seem less aggravating."

He wanted to ask how hanging could be made any less aggravating, but only commented, "No. Thanks."

Warner shrugged. "Well, I'll be leaving you for now, get some rest myself, but I'll just be along the hall. And the lights'll be going off, too. But holler if you need anything."

"Thanks."

The deputy smiled slightly and walked out, and a minute later the lights dimmed to half, then went out all together. Hank grasped the luke-warm can of water to his chest with trembling fingers, and tried not to close his eyes.

---

Breakfast was a muted affair, with only Mal, Jayne, Kaylee and Simon attending. River was still in with Freya, and Zoe was on the bridge, stating she wasn't hungry.

"I meant what I said last night," Mal told her. "You're gonna go see him today. Even if it's only to shout at him."

"That I think I can do." Zoe stared out into the morning sunlight. "Do you think we can get him out of this mess?" she asked, her voice low enough Mal wondered for a moment if she was actually talking to him and not the dinosaurs still ranged across the console.

"Gonna try my damndest, Zo," he promised. "Then you can kill him after."

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it."

Back at the dining table, Kaylee was fluttering anxiously around her husband. "Sweetie, you shouldn't be going anywhere," she was saying as Mal joined them. "You're really sick."

"I have to, Kaylee," Simon said. "I have things to do, important things."

"Can't someone else? I mean, that Doctor Stokes sounds like a good man. Can't you let him do them for you?"

Simon shook his head. "As much as I like the man, he's a member of the Monument community. I'm not sure I want him checking Hank's blood test."

"You don't trust him?" Mal asked, grabbing a handful of protein sticks and munching on them.

"It's not that." The young man tried to get his thoughts in some semblance of order before speaking again. "It's just that the authorities already believe Hank's guilty, and I ... well, I wouldn't put it past Stokes to not ... notice something that might be useful in his defence."

"You don't trust him."

Simon sighed. "No. Besides, I do need to check the ViroStim, make sure we're still on target for this evening."

"And this is gonna make the kids better?"

"Everyone, I hope. Except for Bethie."

"Yeah. Poor kid."

"But she'll be okay, won't she, Simon?" Kaylee asked, holding onto his arm.

"Yes, of course she will." He smiled for her. "Her temperature's already dropping slightly, so in a few days she'll be good as new."

"And the rest of us?" Mal sat forward. "I have to say, I ain't exactly feeling too hot myself this morning."

"It hasn't stopped you eating," Simon commented dryly, but noted the faint sheen of sweat on the captain's forehead.

"No, well, I gotta keep my strength up." He half-grinned but then it slid away. "Although it might just be the fact that I didn't get much sleep last night. My wife and your sis kept me up most of it."

Jayne stirred. "Why? What were you doing?"

"Nothing." Mal quickly pushed away the mental image he'd inadvertently acquired, and added, "I was in the chair while they had the bed. They were dreaming, only it was more like nightmares."

"It's the fever," Simon explained. "Bethie was the same when I checked on her."

"What about the other kids?"

Simon opened his mouth, then closed it again. "Actually, no. Even Ethan was sleeping well."

"It's Hank," Jayne put in. "I'm guessing he ain't resting too good, being banged up in jail, n'all."

"You're probably right." Simon ran his hand over his own face. "And I need another dose of medication."

"Simon ..." Kaylee was still worried, and that worry was tinged with annoyance.

"Don't worry, _mei-mei_," Mal said quickly. "I'll take him to the clinic, make sure he's settled in okay and got everything he needs."

"And you ain't much better." She glared at him.

"She's right," Simon added. "You've got the start of a temperature, I can see from here."

"Then you can dose me up too." He smiled. "Doc, I'm like you. I've got things I gotta do, and no time to be sick."

"What about me?" Jayne asked.

"You're going to make sure Zoe gets to the jail. She's got a visit lined up."

The big man smiled a little. "Like to see that."

"Well, you're not going to. I want you to hang around a few bars. See if you can find anything out." Mal fixed him with a stern eye. "But no drinking other than to blend in."

"'S'if I would. And you? After you've been Simon's babysitter."

"Hey!" the young doctor protested, but was ignored.

"I thought I might go have me a conversation with the dead woman's husband. See if he might be able to shed some light on these developments." He shrugged. "Maybe he knows if he's likely to be the father of the child."

Simon sat up. "You know, that's actually not a bad idea."

"It's not?" Even Mal managed to look surprised.

"Stokes wouldn't let me get a DNA sample from Dr Hammond. He said it hadn't been requested by the sheriff so wouldn't be admissible. But you're representing Hank. You could get one for me."

"Sure, no problem. You just tell me what to do."

Zoe leaned in the doorway. "Sir, got a wave for you."

Mal stood up. "Get your stuff, Simon, and meet me in the cargo bay in ten." He followed Zoe along the corridor. "Who is it?"

"Sam."

"Sam Nazir?"

"That's the one."

He calculated swiftly, but Lazarus was well out of range, even with the modifications Hank had kept coming up with. "What does he want?"

"Ask him yourself, sir," Zoe said, stopping by her own cabin hatch. "I'm going to get ready to see my _current_ husband." She dropped down the ladder and disappeared. Mal winced and continued up the steps.

On the bridge Sam's face was showing expectantly from the vidscreen, and he broke into a smile as he saw his friend come into view. "Mal. Good to see you. How are you?"

"Could be better." He slid into the pilot's seat. "Where the hell are you?"

"We're on board a luxury liner, the Trident, with my daughter and her husband. Inara's getting ... well, the idea is that they could get to know each other, but so far it's been more a case of each one tiptoeing around the other."

Mal had to smile. "'Nara lost her knack of getting folks to like her?"

"No, not at all. But Dhira can be ... somewhat abrasive, especially if she thinks her family are being threatened."

"And she sees Inara as a threat?"

"Not quite. But she doesn't want me taken advantage of, either."

"Sam, I think you can live with that kind've advantage being taken."

Sam laughed. "Oh, I certainly can. But we thought a neutral spot would be best, somewhere away from Lazarus and Greenleaf."

"I conjure that was a good notion."

"Well, so far it hasn't worked that well. Which is why I was waving. When Kaylee talked to Inara last she said you were going to be doing business on Newhall, and since the liner is in the vicinity I wondered if you and the others would care to join us for a few days."

"Safety in numbers?"

"Something like that. Can you?"

"Unfortunately, I think this is one time I'm gonna have to decline."

"Why?"

In as few words as possible Mal explained the situation.

"Can I do anything?" Sam asked, his face having become more serious as it went on. "If it would help we can leave the liner, perhaps charter a ship –"

Mal shook his head. "Can't see how. And I'm not sure how you could help. Have to admit, if I didn't know Hank, just seeing the evidence would more or less prove to me he was guilty."

"But he isn't."

"No. Stupid, maybe. But guilty of murder? No."

"Then perhaps we should come."

"Even if you got here soon as you could, I reckon it'll all be over by then, bar the shouting."

"That quick?"

"This isn't like an Alliance planet, Sam. Justice grinds damn quick. Partly, I always figured, 'cause they don't want the cost of feeding their prisoners, but mostly because they can't see the point. Not exactly like he wasn't caught red-handed. Besides, the trial's set for tomorrow."

"Then do you need money for a lawyer?"

"No, although I might bear that in mind if I get out of my depth."

"You?"

"I'm representing him." Mal watched as a mixture of expressions crossed Sam's face. "And I'd be more'n a little grateful if you didn't say any of the things that've just occurred to you."

"I wouldn't be so tactless."

"No?"

"Well, not much. But whatever you need, I can make arrangements."

Mal moved forward in the chair so he was closer to the screen. "Look, Sam, I'd be beholden if you'd keep this to yourself. I'm glad Inara's not listening, 'cause it'd only worry her and that wouldn't be good for her looks."

Sam had to smile, even if it was only a lift at the corners of his mouth. "If I wasn't about to promise you I'd keep this to myself I'd tell her you said that."

"She can't do anything. That's the hell of it. I'm not sure any of us can. It's not stopping us trying, of course."

"No. Well, you wouldn't be you if you took this lying down."

"That a compliment?"

"I think you'd better take it that way." Sam pursed his lips. "And if Hank is convicted? What then?"

"Hadn't thought that far ahead."

"_Jien tah-duh guay_," Sam said pleasantly as the image fluctuated but steadied again.

Mal shook his head. "Where'd I get this reputation for doing rash things?"

"Oh, it's only among us who have the privilege of knowing you."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment too."

"Better."

Mal became serious again. "I've thought about it. Course I have. Pretty much spent last night doing nothing but think about it. And each time I end up pretty much at the same conclusion."

"Which is?"

"Oh, come on, Sam. Like you said. You know me."

Sam looked more than a little unhappy. "Yes. That's what's worrying me."

---

Dr Raymond Stokes hurried in through the clinic doors, pushing his hair flat with his hands. He'd overslept, having spent the night tossing and turning, and now he was late. There were a number of things he wanted to do before Simon Mara got there, not least of which was ... He glanced at the reception counter, still expecting to see Rita there, and it was a lurch to realise he never would, ever again.

Almost running down the corridors, he came to the lab doors, pushing them open as he pulled the collar of his white coat down into place.

"Good morning," Simon said, looking around from the ViroStim and smiling.

Stokes drew up sharply. "Oh. Morning. You're very early."

"Not that much." Simon patted the machine next to him. "I wanted to check things."

"And ... are they ... is it okay?"

"On track. By this evening we should have the first batch."

"That's good for you."

"Yes. And I'm very grateful for you agreeing to letting me have what I need from it."

"Hey, no problem. You're helping me."

"It's a good job I was, too." Simon crossed to the counter where a small device was sitting next to the microscope. "One of the sheriff's deputies brought Hank's blood test over. I did the analysis while I was waiting for you."

"That's great!" He nodded strongly as he joined the young man. "And?"

"There's just a trace, mostly broken down, but ... I think it's Volmenox."

"Are you sure?"

"Take a look."

Stokes studied the resulting read-out. "It certainly looks like that. But Volmenox is just a sedative. It hardly constitutes –"

"Combined with alcohol Volmenox makes the recipient malleable, happy even, before knocking them out for between four and six hours." Simon leaned against the counter. "It also inhibits formation of short-term memory, which is why Hank can't remember much about that night."

"I suppose."

"Does ... did Rita have access to any?"

"I keep some," Stokes said, turning to a locked cabinet on the wall. "In case there are any violent patients." He punched a key into the codepad. "But I've never had to use it." He opened the door. "It's right at the ... Good God."

"What?"

"There's some missing." He turned, a small phial in his hand.

"How much?"

"About 20 cc's. Enough to knock out an elephant."

"If taken intravenously. But if taken orally, in a drink, you'd need more." Simon took the phial. "Did Rita know the combination?"

"Of course. In case I needed something and I couldn't get to ... But look here. It doesn't mean Hank didn't kill her. Just that she could have been planning to ... I don't know. Rob him, put him in a compromising position so he had to help her ... anything."

"No, but it's another point in Hank's favour. You said you kept it for violent patients. If Hank had this in his system, even if he was attacked the most he could probably have done was laugh."

"Probably," Stokes repeated. "That's the thing, isn't it? What you said. Probably. Maybe he only had a little, or perhaps he ... he threw up. You can't tell from the test results – from what I recall, a little or a lot, you still get the same reading."

"That's true, but –"

"Kuerk will want proof, absolute and positive. And so will the judge. This just isn't enough."

Simon smiled grimly. "But it's a start."


	12. Chapter 12

"You look like something a man might scrape off the bottom of his boot."

Simon glanced up. "Thanks. I think I could say the same thing about you."

Mal smiled and stepped inside the lab. "To be honest, I don't feel much better."

"You should be in bed."

"Well, thanks for the offer, but I've got things to do."

"Well, that's another fantasy out of the window," Simon said dryly, turning back to the microscope.

Mal's lips twitched again. "Anything interesting? As in, can I take a look?"

"If you want. It won't make much sense to you, though." He stood back.

"Hell, Simon, nothing much does nowadays." He peered through the eyepieces. "Huh."

"Exactly."

"So what am I not understanding as to the nature of this ... whatever it is?"

Simon suppressed a grin. "It's a test sample of the antiviral, stained for ease of examination."

"That's why it's sorta purple?"

"Indigo, actually."

"Whatever you say." He looked up. "And is it good?"

"Very good. The ViroStim is working, and we'll have the first set of injections ready to go about six pm tonight."

Mal felt part of the tension ease from his belly. "And that's soon enough?"

"Apart from Bethie, of course, I can dose everyone up before bed, and they should start to feel better in the morning."

Mal's eyes narrowed slightly. "There something you're not telling me?"

Now Simon laughed. "I can't get much past you, can I, Captain?"

"Not much, although more'n a few folks have tried."

"Most people actually feel worse before they feel better."

"How much worse?"

"Nausea, headache, some palpitations –"

Mal held up his hand. "Then I suggest you knock out those you can, the kids in particular."

"I was intending to sedate everyone." Simon sighed. "Hank, on the other hand ..."

"Yeah. I don't get the impression Kuerk's going to let you inject that man with anything."

"No. I'm just hoping he's got natural immunity."

"Knowing his luck, I wouldn't be surprised."

"His luck? I'd say that's just about run out."

"Hope not, doc."

"Talking of which, how did your visit to see Dr Hammond go?"

Mal shook his head. That wasn't going to go down as one of his most favourite conversations ever. The man was delirious, alternating crying for the loss of his wife and angrily trying to get out of bed to kill the man who'd murdered her. He was probably not much older than Jayne, but the fever from the illness and the grief had turned him into an old man overnight.

During one of his occasionally more lucid moments at the median point between mood swings, Mal managed to ask a couple of questions.

"Dr Hammond, do you know who would have wanted to hurt your wife?"

Hammond fixed him with red-rimmed eyes. "Get him. Get the man that took my Rita." He grabbed Mal's hand, holding surprisingly tightly. "Bastard needs to be gutted. You promise me you'll get him, do to him what he did to her."

"Who, Dr Hammond?" Mal leaned forward. "Was it an affair? Who was she seeing?"

The sick man shook his head, but the tremors he was experiencing meant it was almost lost. "Never knew. But she always came home to me."

"Sir, did she tell you she was pregnant?"

Hammond stared, then a huge tear rolled down his cheek into his hair. "No. She didn't say a word. But she knows I'd love it, no matter who the father is. I love her, you see. Love her ..." His eyes blurred with more tears, even as he slid into unconsciousness, still convulsing slightly as he dreamed.

"What about the DNA sample?" Simon asked.

"Tears do you?" Mal held out the swab container.

"Perfect." Simon slid the end into his small DNA tester and pressed the button. "Care to take a bet on whether this is a match to the foetal tissue?"

"Apart from the fact that Hank's locked up right now because of gambling, no. Be a sucker bet. Hammond admitted Rita tended to play around."

Simon leaned against the counter. "You know, as obvious as this is to us, it's all circumstantial. Stokes is right. We're going to need a lot more solid evidence before Kuerk believes us."

"Then we'll find it. We know Hank didn't do it, so there has to be something."

"And if there isn't?"

"I can always let Jayne loose with grenades."

"After we get the antiviral," Simon insisted.

"Oh, yes. Ain't that crazy." The machine beeped and Mal leaned forward. "Now what?"

"We compare." Simon fed the data into the clinic's analyser, and in a moment two patterns appeared on the screen. Running his finger over a pad, he aligned them one on top of the other.

"Well?"

"No match."

"So we were right."

"Rita had at least one lover."

There was a pause before Mal asked, just a little diffidently, "I don't suppose that doohickey has other samples we can compare it with."

Simon raised an eyebrow at him. "That wouldn't be ethical."

"So?"

"Anyway, no. I already looked. Stokes hasn't given me access to that information."

"Can't we –"

"No." Ray Stokes walked into the lab. "I can't. Simon isn't even supposed to be here, let alone going through patients' records."

Mal crossed his arms. "I thought you believed Hank was innocent."

"I don't think I've ever said that." Stokes gazed at Serenity's captain. "I think he's probably as guilty as they come. He just doesn't remember."

"Then why are you –"

"Because we both have something the other needs. But I'm not going to totally ignore protocol just to let you rummage around trying to find something that probably isn't even there."

"I could threaten you," Mal pointed out, stepping closer.

"You could. But all I'd need to do is turn off the ViroStim and no-one gets the antiviral."

"True. Could always take the machine with us, though. Make what we need elsewhere."

"And leave your man here? I don't think so."

They were now only a couple of feet apart, squaring up to each other.

"Mal, enough," Simon put in quickly, not wanting to see the tension in the room boil over into something else.

"You don't get to tell me when enough's enough," Mal growled.

"In this case I think I do." He didn't blink at the glare Mal threw his way. "Besides, if we found anything like this, Judge Temple would probably throw it out as inadmissible."

"He's right," Stokes agreed. "You get me a warrant from the judge, duly signed, and you can go through the records to your heart's content. But until then, they're off limits."

Mal didn't back down for a moment, then something eased. Just a whisper, but the explosion was defused. "Okay. I'll go see what I can do." He looked at Simon. "Stay here."

"I'm not a dog, Mal."

"No, well, if you were then you wouldn't try and tell me what to do." He raised one eyebrow and was gone.

Stokes released a long breath. "Sorry about that."

"It's okay." Simon smiled tiredly.

"He's … very aggressive."

"It's for his family."

"I suppose. I hope he didn't think I was being deliberately obstructive."

"He might not have put it in quite those terms, but ... probably. But he won't hold it against you."

"It's ... you have to understand, if the City Council find out I've been helping you, bypassing the rules, they could have me replaced, just like that." He clicked his fingers. "And I need this job."

"There are a lot of worlds that are crying out for doctors." Simon tried to ease his aching shoulders.

"This is my home. And I've spent too long making this clinic the place it is."

"Point taken. I'd feel the same if I had to leave Serenity." He turned back towards the microscope, but his coordination must have been off as his arm caught a rack of test-tubes, sending them to the floor. They shattered into razor shards. "Son of a bitch."

"It's okay," Stokes said quickly, going down onto his heels and picking up the largest fragments. "They were empty anyway. No great harm – _Cao_." He lifted his hand to his mouth, sucking on his finger.

"It's a good job they were empty," Simon teased gently. "Who knows what you might have caught doing that?"

Stokes laughed. "You're right."

"Is it okay?" Simon tried to see.

"Just a cut. I wouldn't worry about the copious amounts of blood pouring out." He looked at his finger. "See? Stopping already."

"You need a weave on it, though."

"It was my own fault. I should have got the pan and brush, but I just have little patience lately."

"Where are they?"

"In the cupboard over there." Stokes pointed vaguely.

"I'll do it." Simon patted him on the shoulder. "You go and put something on that cut. And perhaps you could get us something to drink at the same time."

Stokes smiled. "Thirsty?"

"Measles."

The smile faltered. "I thought you didn't look too hot."

"According to my captain, I look like shit."

"Well ..."

"Thanks. Although I don't know how you've managed to escape being infected."

"I had it when I was a kid. My Ma took me halfway across the planet to catch it." He gave a sloppy salute. "But drinks it is." He walked out, still sucking on his finger.

Simon chuckled, shaking his head, then opened the cupboard. As predicted, inside was a dustpan and brush, and he busied himself for a minute sweeping up every fragment of glass. Satisfied at last, he put the pan by the door, ready to be disposed of.

Turning back to the counter he looked at his own mess. Better put the other samples away before he broke them too. Picking up the containers, he opened one of the refrigerated units against the wall, and smiled again. It looked like Stokes never cleaned out anything. There were dozens of samples, perhaps hundreds, all jammed in together.

Moving test-tubes and Petri dishes, he made a space at the front, sliding the samples into place. He stared at the rest, his sense of order offended by the higgledy nature of the shelves, and he idly turned half a dozen phials so that the name labels at least faced front. His hand paused, and for a moment he wondered why, then he looked again. _Rita Hammond_. He picked it up, rolled it so the blood within moved lazily from side to side, and read the label again. _Rita Hammond_. No date.

He glanced at the door, then back at the small tube. "Now why would Stokes have a phial of her blood?" he murmured to himself. "Fresh, too, by the looks of it." His blue eyes narrowed. "Doesn't make sense."

Almost without knowing it, he found himself in front of the analyser. "Probably won't be anything. Nothing at all." The chill of the phial was making itself known in the palm of his hand as he broke the seal and took a tiny sample, feeding it into the machine, every second expecting the door to open and Stokes to be standing there, demanding to know what was going on.

The door didn't open, and there was no outraged voice. Instead the machine beeped, and Simon read the results. _Pregnancy test – positive_.

He stood straight, his lips pursed. So this blood was from – no, wait. Stokes had said she'd been pregnant before, had a miscarriage. It was possible this blood was from that time. A year, Stokes said. It was possible. And the rest of his samples were in such a state, that would explain why there was no date on it. But maybe there was a way to find out. Simon typed another request into the machine.

It seemed an age again, but finally it was ready. He took a deep breath and read.

_Positive_.

He wasn't sure why he wasn't surprised. The blood showed pregnancy indicators, _and_ the measles virus. Proof it had been taken within the last eight weeks, at least according to the level of hormones.

He leaned on the counter, staring at the screen, trying to make his flagging brain work. Stokes had said this was his lab, so there'd be no reason for Dr Hammond to store samples in these units. Besides, he said he didn't know his wife was pregnant. But someone was lying.

Slowly his head lifted, his eyes fastening on the dustpan by the door.

"This is crazy," he muttered. "_I_ must be crazy." Still, he carefully tipped the broken glass onto a clear area of counter, picking it over with a pair of forceps. There. A single piece, but there was enough. Carrying it back to the DNA tester, he wiped a swab along the edge of the piece of test-tube and placed it inside. "Come on, come on," he urged, glancing up at the door again. As the result appeared he was already feeding it into the analyser, barely breathing.

The two profiles appeared, and he swept one on top of the other. A black bar across the centre of the screen confirmed what he'd already seen. _Match_. He stared at it.

The door was flung open and Stokes hurried in, a tray with a selection of cold cans and two glasses on it. "Sorry, took me longer than I thought. We'd run out of chilled drinks in ... what is it?"

Simon looked at him. "It's you."

"What?"

"You're the father."

He put the tray down. "I don't know what you're talking about." He moved forward, finally seeing the phial of blood and the broken test-tube. He swallowed thickly.

"It's a match," Simon said, tapping the screen. "_You're_ a match."

"That's ... no, you're wrong. That blood ... it's from when Rita was pregnant before. I did the test for her. Remember? I told you."

Simon was shaking his head. "She had measles. Her body was already creating antibodies." He touched the glass fragment. "And even if it was old, how do you explain this? You're the father of her baby."

"It was over!" Stokes said, throwing his hands into the air, his face earnest, begging to be believed. "Before I even found out she was pregnant!"

"And she came to you for the test?" Simon shook his head, not just because he didn't believe the man standing in front of him, but to try and clear the muzziness. "I don't think so. Not her ex-lover. Not unless she wanted something." He pushed himself upright, and started across the room.

"Where are you going?" Stokes demanded, his hands in his hair.

"To call Mal. Tell him." He tried to focus on his jacket hanging on the back of the door, the comlink in the pocket.

"No. No, Simon, stop!" Stokes grabbed his arm. "I didn't kill her!"

"I think we'll let the sheriff decide that." Simon tried to pull free, but he seemed to have lost his strength.

"I can't let you ..." Stokes pushed him, his whole body weight forcing the other man towards the window.

Simon felt the edge of the sill against his thighs, then Stokes twisted, and suddenly he was in mid air, falling, the ground rushing up towards him.

On board Serenity, Bethie screamed. "Daddy!"


	13. Chapter 13

"I'm getting pretty pissed off at being looked at like I'm lower'n a boil on someone's backside," Jayne grumbled, staring back at the man across the bar. "And it's too gorram early to be pissing me off." He intensified the wattage of his glare, not blinking, and the man turned away, thoroughly intimidated.

"You put people off much more, 'n' they ain't gonna want to talk to us at all." Mal took a sip of what he'd been assured was a mug of coffee, but his tastebuds refused to believe it. Even Jayne's brew was better than … well, maybe not.

"It ain't like they're saying much, anyways," the big man groused.

Mal had caught up with Jayne after leaving the clinic and ascertaining, via a Cortex booth, that Judge Temple wasn't going to be available until after lunch. Rather than head back empty-handed, without the warrant to go through the clinic's database, he'd decided to use the time wisely and infect as many of the good citizens of Newhall with measles as was humanly possible, Well, at least see what he could get them to tell him.

He'd found Jayne almost immediately, sitting morosely at a table in a bar that, even at this time of the morning, was doing a bustling trade. Kuerk was right – booze and church, and probably the same folk doing both. An untouched bottle of beer sat in front of the ex-mercenary.

Falling into the seat opposite, Mal had ordered a coffee and tried to find out what was eating his gunhand this time. "Is it River?"

"Bit," Jayne admitted. "She ain't well, Mal. And she's just a slip of a woman, and it's taking maybe more out of her than she can afford to lose."

"This time tomorrow she'll be feeling better."

"Yeah, I know that's what Simon says, but –"

"No. It's what _I_ say. I'm promising, Jayne."

"Yeah, but –" He brought himself up short. "I know it's your wife and kids too. I get that. But I ain't had to worry about no-one like this for a long time. Not sure I can do it."

Mal chuckled. "Of course you can. It's called growing up."

"Hell, avoided that as long as I could." A smile finally cracked his face. "I reckon seeing Caleb born kinda put the hat on that."

"I wouldn't worry. I don't think you've got there yet."

Jayne sat back. "What, you think I ain't a responsible married family man?"

"Well, three out of four ain't bad."

It was then Jayne had seen the man glaring at them. "_Hwoon dahn_."

"Just take it easy," Mal advised.

"They just make my trigger finger itch. And I've been to almost every bar in town. I was gonna go to the local cathouse, but … you know they ain't got one?" He looked scandalised.

"Why would you be wanting to see whores, Jayne?" Mal asked slowly. "Taking care to remember what I'd do to you if you even thought about being unfaithful to that little girl."

"Aw, Mal, you know I wouldn't do that." He leaned forward again, this time as if they were party to a conspiracy. "But men talk when they're in the company of loose women, about all sortsa things. If anyone'd know what was going on in this town, it'd be the whores. 'Cept there ain't any." He sniffed in disgust. "Got more'n their share of churches, though."

"God-fearing people, Jayne. Can't help getting the notion that if Hank had been caught committing adultery he might not be threatened with being hanged, but it'd be a close run thing."

"Considering what he's done, if'n he had taken up with another woman, how come you ain't threatening him with a date with the airlock?" Jayne almost pouted.

"Oh, I would have. Although I'm not sure Zoe would have let him survive that long."

Jayne chortled at that. "No. Reckon she'd've had his balls as big, hairy ear-rings if that happened."

Mal winced. "You've got a colourful turn of phrase."

"'N' I was being polite, too." He grinned. "But they're all like that, ain't they? The women on board."

"That they are, Jayne. That they are. And it's best we don't forget, being mere men and liable to fall at any moment." He sighed happily. "Come on. I think we'd better –" He was interrupted by the comlink in his pocket beeping urgently. Pulling it free he pressed the transmit button and said, "Yeah?"

"_Cap, something's happened to Simon!_" Kaylee's voice seemed to fill the bar, and everyone turned to look.

Mal was immediately on his feet and out of the door, Jayne behind him. "Tell me."

"_Bethie saw it. Something. Started screaming. Frey and Riv, they can feel it too, so it ain't a nightmare, but they can't tell what. And I can't get hold of him!_"

He could tell she was almost in tears. "Kaylee, _mei-mei_, do you know if he was leaving the clinic?"

"_No. I haven't heard from … Cap, what if –_"

"The beacon, Kaylee. Simon's personal beacon. Is it working?"

On Serenity's bridge Kaylee wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. "I don't know. I didn't think to –"

"_Well, check that first. If we know where to look it's gonna be that much easier to find him._"

Kaylee nodded, even though she knew the captain couldn't see, and tuned the sensors to the beacon's signature pulse. And again. Then a third time. "_Zhan cao chu gen_." She could barely speak. "I'm not getting anything, Mal." It showed the extent of her extreme concern that she used his given name. "Those gorram cheap parts ... I shoulda –"

Freya, coming up unseen behind her, leaned forward, her hand resting heavily on the back of the pilot's seat. "Mal, I think he's still at the clinic. We don't know what happened, but River and I both think he's still there."

Mal looked at Jayne, and they started to run towards the medical building. "Frey, thanks but you go back to bed. Kaylee, contact Zoe, have her meet us there."

Kaylee nodded, watching anxiously as Freya sat down in the co-pilot's seat, tremors visible throughout her body even as she wrapped her thin robe closer about herself. "Mal said you were to go back to bed," the younger woman pointed out.

"You need me here," Freya said simply. "Ain't going anywhere. And you'd better call Zoe."

Kaylee smiled gratefully and changed frequency.

---

Zoe sat on the stool and looked at her husband, not saying a word. She didn't have to. He was doing all the talking for them both.

"I really didn't know what I was doing, Zoe," he was saying. "And I didn't kill her. I don't even remember her. And I would never have gone off with another woman, you know that. Not because of what you'd do to me if I did, but just because I would never want to. And I know you'd kill me anyway if I even thought about it." He paused for breath. "Are you actually going to answer me?"

"What do you want me to say?"

His eyebrows raised. "How about that you forgive me?"

"I don't."

"Zoe, I told you, I didn't do it on purpose. I would never cheat on you, you know that."

"That isn't the problem. And you know _that_."

Hank sighed. "I'm sorry."

"I don't think that's going to be good enough."

"I won't gamble. Ever again."

"I don't believe you."

"Zoe, I promise you I'll –"

"You promised me before. And now look what's happened."

"That isn't really –"

"You've got a problem. A big problem. And until you admit it I can't help you."

"But I win!" He was trying desperately to make her understand, his hands tightening on the bars until his knuckles were white. "Zoe, I win. It isn't really gambling."

"I know. And that's what makes it worse." She studied him, his grey eyes, the untidy brown hair, and wondered for just a moment what she'd fallen in love with, and even more, _why_ she had. It had been against her better judgement, and she still felt the occasional pang of guilt that maybe she was betraying Wash, sullying his memory somehow. But always those grey eyes and the untidy brown hair would pull her round, remind her that Wash wouldn't want her to be alone, not after he'd spent all that time teaching her how much fun it was to be a couple. She owed it to him, to both of them, to try. "I've never really told you about my father, have I?" she asked.

Hank was thrown by the apparent change of subject. "Um, no?"

"My Pa wasn't always a space rat. He came from a pretty fair home, only son 'n'all. Place like Mal's, I always figured. Inherited the whole shebang after his parents died, and that could have been the end of it. Met my Ma, got married ... she showed me a couple of pictures once, and they looked so happy. Like it was gonna last forever. Then he started to gamble." She heard him take a sharp breath, but went on quickly, as if the words might refuse to come out otherwise. "Little things at first. Occasional horse race. A game or two in town on a Friday night. Then Saturday too. And Wednesdays ... until he was barely home. My Ma threatened to leave him if he didn't quit."

"I didn't know." He stared at her, so calm, so stoic, as she told him more about her family than she had ever done.

"My Pa promised to stop gambling then, and it was true he didn't go to town anymore. He just found other ways. Cortex betting mostly. Sometimes he'd win, and that'd convince him he was on a streak, so he'd bet more. Then when he lost he bet even bigger, just to win it back."

"What happened?"

"He lost. The house, all the money ... everything went to pay the debts. My Ma nearly left him then."

"Why ... why didn't she?"

"She loved him."

He tried to make light of it, anything to make it not sound so real. "Zoe, this sounds like something out of one of my books."

"Maybe it does. But it's the truth. They had to leave, start over. A freighter was delivering goods and Pa talked the captain into taking them both on. Boxer was a good man, understood when Ma told him about Pa's problem. Made sure he didn't get the cash, or have access to anything on the Cortex. It took a long while, coupla years, before he could control it better. Then I was born, and Ma said he cried 'cause otherwise he knew he wouldn't've been around to see it."

"Zoe –"

"You're not as bad as that, not yet, but you will be. I want you to see Ben grow up, Hank. But if it's a choice, and you don't make the right one, I'll put you off Serenity myself."

"Sweetheart, I'm not addicted. I could give up whenever I wanted." Even he could hear the note of pleading in his voice.

"But you didn't." She sat back, gazing at him. "Even though you knew I hated it, and I wanted you to stop." She shook her head, a single curl coming loose and bouncing on her shoulder. "It's always a sure thing, isn't it? You get the word from someone, so you have to put a few credits on a race. And you win. Makes you feel good. You tell yourself it's nothing, that it's just a little money. And this is all apart from the fact that you're naturally talented at cards. Makes it kinda worse, actually. 'Cause you're good at it. But that don't mean it ain't an addiction."

"Yeah, well, if Mal don't figure out who killed that woman, I don't think we're gonna have to worry about that for too much longer anyway," Hank joked, then wilted at her glare. "Does he ... does he know about this? Your Pa, I mean."

"No. Never felt the need to tell him."

"Oh." He wasn't sure if he felt thankful that she had confided in him, or scared that she was about to walk out of his life forever. A little of both, he decided. "You know, you could just consider this whole mess _tao tai_."

Zoe glared at him. "This is not natural selection."

"Karma, then. For something I did in another life."

"Hank, it was something you did in _this_ life."

"I know." He glanced at Warner, just outside in the corridor, making like he wasn't listening. "Zoe, I love you. I'll do anything to –"

The comlink in Zoe's pocket buzzed.

"You shouldn't have that in here!" Warner hissed, darting inside and reaching for the small unit.

Zoe merely stepped out of his way. "Yes?"

Kaylee's voice, tense, worried. "_Zoe, Mal wants you at the clinic. Something's ... something's happened to Simon._"

"On my way." She glanced at Hank. "Gotta go."

"I know." He managed to dredge up a smile. "Come back?"

"I'll think on it. Otherwise I'd have to tell Ben what happened to his Daddy." She pushed past Warner and left the station at a run.

---

Mal flung the door to the lab open. "Stokes. Where's Simon?"

The doctor jerked his head up, surprise and maybe something else on his face. "What?"

"Simon. Where is he?"

"I don't know." Stokes slid the drawer closed under the counter. "I came back a few minutes ago, but he wasn't here. Why?"

Mal wasn't about to go into details. "We need to find him. Where's he likely to have gone?"

"I don't know. Maybe he went to the wards."

"Which way?"

"Um, down the corridor to the left." Stokes watched Serenity's captain stride out, and he bit his lip. Glancing out of the window to the ground, he quickly went through all the options open to him. He'd wiped all the results from the computer, and had been about to destroy the samples when Mal came in, but if Simon woke up and remembered, if he wasn't around to minimise any damage if the medic told anyone what had happened ... Stokes swallowed and pulled what little courage he had out of his boots, then shouted, "Here!"

Mal slammed back into the lab. "Simon?" Stokes pointed outside. Mal ran across the room and looked down. "Jayne!" he yelled, staring for a moment at the young man lying some thirty feet below then heading back for the door. "He's outside!"

Jayne, opening cupboards and office doors, lifted his head. That did not sound good. "_Gou niang yang de_." His face darkened as he ran back towards the entrance, his boots pounding on the floor, almost catching up with Mal and Stokes as they headed back into the sunlight.

"This way," Stokes said, leading them around the building towards the back, through a gate into what looked like a disused garden.

"Where is he?" Mal asked, looking round.

"That's my window." He pointed up, crossing the unkempt grass towards a line of bushes.

Mal pushed through, pausing only a second at the sight of Simon face down on the hard-packed earth, hidden from casual view. "Jayne, get a stretcher."

"On it." He backed up then disappeared through the gate.

"Let me see," Stokes said, pressing past and going down onto his knees.

"Is he alive?" Mal joined him the other side.

Stokes felt for a pulse. "Yes."

"Bad?"

"I don't know yet." He ran experienced hands over the body in front of him, letting his professionalism mask his fear. "A broken left arm, probably some ribs gone on that side, possible internal injuries ... and he's got a bad head wound too." He glanced up at his window above them. "I'm surprised he didn't break his neck. He must have fallen."

"Yeah." Mal leaned forward. "We need to roll him. Ease his breathing."

Stokes looked at him in surprise. "Do you have medical training, captain?"

"Nope. But a man picks up bits during a war, even if it was barely enough to keep me and mine alive and kicking. 'Sides, there was a time I didn't have a medic on board Serenity."

"Then help me. Support his head and shoulders, but try not to jar that arm."

"I'll try."

Between them they got Simon onto his back as gently as possible, but the result wasn't much better. The front of his shirt was stained with blood, still redly wet.

"What the hell ...?" Stokes pulled the fabric away, revealing two long cuts in the flesh of Simon's chest, at right angles to each other. "Something in his pocket." He tapped, and it sounded metal.

"Gorram beacon," Mal ground out.

"What?"

"Never mind." He noted there was more blood on Simon's face, leaking from his nose and lips, let alone the gash in his hairline.

"Mal." Jayne thundered back up carrying a stretcher, Zoe at his side.

"Is he –" she began.

"Alive. But we need to get him inside so the doc here can start work." He looked up at his first mate as Jayne set the stretcher down on the earth. "Better get Kaylee here, though."

Zoe nodded, taking the comlink from her pocket, and wondering if they were about to lose another member of the crew.


	14. Chapter 14

Kaylee ran through the streets as fast as she could. People were watching her, getting out of her way, but she ignored them. All she could think of was her husband, of Simon, of Zoe's comlink call, of the way her stomach had tied itself in knots at the words.

"_We've found him_."

"Is he okay?"

"_Better get here, Kaylee_."

Kaylee stared at Freya, who stood up slowly. "Go. I'll look after everyone here. Go on."

"But you're sick and I –"

Freya pushed her gently. "Go."

"Lock up behind me," the young woman said, not waiting for a reply, just heading down the stairs at breakneck speed. She barely saw River standing white-faced by the ramp controls, hardly heard her whispered "Bring him home." Just ran.

Jayne was in the reception area. "Said I'd wait for ya," he explained. "Show you where he is."

"Is he –" She couldn't finish, her own face paler than he'd ever seen.

"He's alive, Kaylee." He patted her arm, somewhat awkwardly. He'd had a soft spot for this young mechanic ever since he'd first come on board, more or less from the same moment the Cap'd warned him off.

"_You touch her, you'll be seeing what it feels like to take a walk outside. Without benefit of air._"

He'd never done more than look, and now not even that. Kaylee was like his little sister, and he found himself worried because she was. Not that he was concerned about the doc, of course. Never that. Even if the guy was his brother-in-law. Yeah, right.

"Where is he?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

"This way." He steered her towards the business side of the clinic.

As they hurried through what seemed like interminable corridors, she was wringing her hands. "What if he ain't okay?" she was saying, almost to herself. "What if I gotta tell Bethie and Hope their Daddy ain't coming home? What if –"

"He's a strong feller," Jayne assured her, ignoring his inner mercenary berating him for showing any kind of feeling. "Had to be, surviving what we've thrown his way."

Kaylee looked at him, her eyes huge and ready to spill into tears. "I know that, but –"

"Girl, you gotta hold yourself together. How's he gonna feel if he sees you like this?" He stopped outside a pair of double doors. "It was just a little fall, Kaylee. And seeing you all worked up is only gonna make him think he's got one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel."

She had to smile, just a little. "Ain't had bananas in a long time, Jayne."

"Yeah, well, next time we see any, I'll buy ya some. Just don't go in there weepin' and wailin'. It ain't natural for a man to be seeing that."

She took a deep breath, swallowing hard. "Okay, Jayne. I'm ready."

He grinned. "Good girl." Pushing the doors open, he held them for her to go through first.

Ahead of them was a glass wall, through which she could see two people bending over a body lying motionless on a table. Only it wasn't just a body. It was her husband.

Despite her determination to do what Jayne said, she felt her eyes fill up. "Simon ..." she breathed.

"Dr Stokes is working on him, _mei-mei_," Mal said, standing by the window, unnoticed.

"And the woman?" Kaylee could just see a glimpse of red hair beneath a tight cap, a shapely figure under the scrubs.

"His nurse. His wife, too."

She walked slowly forwards. "What're they doing?"

"Making him better. You know that, don't you?"

Leaning her forehead on the cool glass, she didn't answer, just watched as the woman passed her husband something she didn't recognise. Zoe moved closer, giving her comfort where she could.

Jayne stood quietly for a minute, then backed through the doors again. Something wasn't sitting right with him about all this.

Apparently Mal felt the same, following him quietly outside. "Take a look around," he ordered.

"I was gonna. You thinkin' there's a problem with all this?"

"Simon going out a window?" He took a breath and nodded slowly. "Little too convenient, given he was looking into the killing 'n' all."

"You think he was pushed?"

"Don't you?" Mal didn't wait for an answer. "See what you can find."

Jayne turned and strode away down the corridor.

"Do you really think someone tried to kill Simon?" Zoe said, materialising at his elbow, leaving Kaylee watching. Nothing short of dynamite would have shifted her now.

"Maybe. I don't know. But I should never've left him," Mal said quietly, not looking at his first mate.

"Sir, you weren't to know he'd –"

"I knew he was sick! I should've stayed with him, made sure he was okay. And even if it was an accident rather than ..." A wave of weakness made him stagger slightly, and it was only Zoe's arm around him that stopped him falling.

"Mal ..."

"Gorramit, this is all I need." He sounded so disgusted with himself that she had to hide a smile.

"You should be in bed." She manoeuvred him to a chair.

"Just … let me sit a while." He looked up at her. "And you don't look too good yourself."

"I've got it. I know."

"Just not letting it take you down, uh?" he joked feebly, feeling like his lungs wouldn't fill properly.

"Someone has to keep their hand on the wheel, sir."

"Tiller."

"What?"

"The phrase is 'hand on the tiller'. Least I think it's that. You'd have to check with Frey – she's the expert on crazy sayings."

"Really."

"Anyway, wheel or tiller … I've got the feeling we need all our wits about us right now, Zoe. Or we ain't all gonna come through this in one piece." He stood up, holding himself straight through sheer effort of will. "Come on. Best we get back inside. Kaylee needs us."

"Yes, sir."

---

Jayne walked into the lab and looked around the room. Nothing seemed out of place, that he could see, but then he wasn't a doctor. Crossing to the ViroStim he peered at its displays. Most meant nothing, but Simon had shown him one in particular, a long, narrow readout with a black line crossing a red background.

"When that bar gets to the end, we're ready," the young man had said, smiling.

The bar looked like it had just a bit to go, with just a little red still showing, and then the medicine'd be ready. And not before time. He wanted River and Caleb to get first goes, but he knew that would be up to the … He pushed down the anger. Not Simon, not this time. Have to rely on Stokes. And the way Mal looked, he'd probably get the first shot, just so he didn't fall down.

He walked quietly to the window and studied it, not touching, just measuring the height against his own leg. Simon wasn't as tall as Mal, maybe near half a head shorter. 'N' Mal lacked his height by a few inches. So on the doc the sill would come up to … he scrunched down a little. Yeah, maybe. But what was he doing near the window in the first place?

It wasn't surprising, though, that nobody saw Simon fall – the other windows overlooking the garden were closed and shuttered. Maybe the clinic had been built with more doctors in mind, but only having the two … Glancing down only confirmed what he already knew. The bushes shielded the scuffed area of dirt from casual observation down on the ground, and if Stokes hadn't looked out, seen Simon lying there, the boy could've died and no-one would've been any the wiser.

As he pulled his head back in, Jayne looked down at the floor, and his eyes narrowed even more.

---

Stokes pulled the cap from his head and used it to wipe his face, before turning to the glass wall. He could see Captain Reynolds standing next to a young woman, his arm around her, and it didn't take much to guess this was Simon's wife. The dark-skinned Zoe was close by, her face unreadable.

"Claire, give our patient another 10cc of Neuroxatin then take him along to room 12."

"Of course." His own wife smiled at him. "Are you going to –"

He nodded. "I'll go out and give them the news." He smiled briefly back then walked into the observation room.

Kaylee darted forward. "Doc, is he –"

Stokes held up a hand and said, "He's lucky. For the most part, he's damned lucky. Apart from the broken arm, he's got four broken ribs on that side, but none of them pierced the lung. I wasn't too happy about his spleen, but the scans don't show any tears. In fact there's nothing in the way of internal injuries beyond bruising." Some of the tension left the young woman's body. "Are you Kaylee?"

"Yes, sir, that's me." She blinked hard, trying to force back the tears. "I'm Kaylee."

"He spoke about you before. When we were working on the antiviral. About how you're always there for him."

She had to laugh a little. "Other way around, Dr Stokes. And I guess I gotta thank you twice now."

"No. I don't need thanks." He dredged up a smile, all the while wishing he hadn't had to do what he did, hadn't had to take matters into his own hands like this. She was such a sweet little thing.

"Can I go in? See him?" Kaylee asked, her hands clutched in front of her.

"Claire's taking him to his room in a minute, but you can be waiting for him. It's number 12, just down the hall."

Kaylee sniffed hard and hurried out, surreptitiously wiping her cheeks on her sleeve.

Mal watched her go then turned back, movement on the periphery of his vision indicating Jayne stepping silently through the double doors before they closed. "But."

"What?" Stokes asked.

Mal stepped forward. "You said he was lucky for the most part. Kinda suggests there's a 'but' hanging around."

"I'm more concerned about the head injury. There is some swelling of the brain, not helped by his temperature, which is still high."

"The measles."

"Yes. He must have hit the ground pretty hard, and cracked his cheekbone." He raised his head. "I should have said to … Kaylee, isn't it? Warned her about the bruising. He's going to have one hell of a black eye."

"She's seen worse." Mal glanced at Zoe. "I know what you said to her. But you can tell me, truthful now. Is he going to make it?"

"I … don't know."

"Well, it's an answer, but I ain't sure I like it."

"I'm just a doctor, Captain, not God. All things being equal, the swelling should go down and he should be fine. The injuries will heal, and he'll be up and about annoying you before you know it."

"And if they ain't equal?"

"Let's just hope they are." Stokes reached into the pocket of the blood-stained scrubs. "Oh, and I stitched the wounds on his chest. I thought you might like this back." He handed Mal the beacon, battered and bent out of shape.

Mal turned it over in his hands, running the tips of his fingers across the surface. "Hey, what's this?" he asked, finding something long, hard and sharp embedded in the metal.

"A nail, I think. Probably from when they built the place." Stokes smiled. "Another reason your young medic was lucky. If he hadn't had that … whatever it is, inside his shirt, it could have gone straight into his chest. It was right over his heart." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to change, then check on the antiviral." He walked out.

"Well?" Mal asked, turning to Jayne. "You find anything?"

"Yeah." He waited for Zoe to step closer. "I took a look at that window. The one Simon fell out of. Only I don't think he could."

"Explain."

"The window ledge is higher'n I'd like."

"Jayne, I know I'm not feeling up to par, but even I know that ain't -"

"And there's scuff marks on the floor." He paused for emphasis. "Like someone was fighting."

Mal crossed his arms, still holding the defunct beacon. "He _was_ pushed."

"Sure as hell looks like it."

For a long moment Mal tried to make his brain work, pushing against the fatigue trying to make him lie down and sleep. "Okay, from now on we take precautions. If someone tried already, there's no reason they ain't gonna again. 'Cept us."

"Simon being attacked suggests he knows something," Zoe pointed out.

"Yeah, that had occurred to me. It's not likely they're trying to stop him making the antiviral, otherwise they'd have broken the machine. No, it has to be the murder."

"What was he working on?"

"Nothing." Mal's face was stern, his blue eyes hard. "That's the point of it. He was waiting for me to get the warrant for the judge to look at the DNA database." He exhaled heavily. "He must've found something. Something he never got the chance to tell us."

"Is he gonna?" Jayne asked.

"He'd better, or Kaylee'll never forgive him." His lips twitched, just a little, but there was no real humour in it. "Talking of which, she's in room 12 waiting for him. Whatever you do, don't let Simon out of your sight."

"Wasn't planning on it," the ex-mercenary promised with a growl, turning on his heel and stomping from the room.


	15. Chapter 15

Stokes sat on the bench in the changing room, staring at his hands, wondering where the hell his life was heading. He'd trained to be a doctor, not in the Core in one of the fancy MedAcads, but on Beaumonde. He knew he wasn't one of the best, but he wasn't one of the worst either, the kind who were only in the business for the money, for the chance to make large amounts of cash out of people who were too scared or stupid to know any better. At least he cared about his patients. Did his best for them. And when he came home to Newhall, joined Stan Hammond in the clinic, he thought he'd be doing just that.

And now he'd killed a man. Oh, Simon was still alive, lying in that room, his wife fluttering anxiously around him, but Stokes couldn't help remembering the words of one of his old tutors, the one who had scared all the medical students with his ill-disguised delight in every disgusting aspect of his work.

"_It's the intention that you need to consider. Whether you succeed or not, while important to the patient, is almost secondary to you as a doctor. If you go onto that ward thinking that you won't save their lives, don't bother going on at all. You've already lost. It is the intention that makes the difference."_

Well, Stokes had intended to kill. And if old Professor Wu was to be believed, and the intention was the result, then Simon was a dead man. He shuddered. He could still see the sunlight through the window, feel the shirt bunched up in his hands, hear the shout being cut off before it could begin ... It wasn't premeditated or planned, but that young man stating that Stokes was the father of Rita's baby, and knowing that, if he allowed that information to get out, to reach the sheriff ...

"Honey?" Claire walked around the corner, fiddling with her hair. "Are you okay?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm fine."

"Only you've been sitting there like that for ten minutes."

"Thinking."

"Oh, I realised that. Could tell from the look on your face." She smiled, tiny lines etched next to her eyes. "Can you give me a hand?" she asked. "It just won't stay up today."

"Sure." He stood and she turned, her red hair falling down her back. Stepping closer he lifted it up, feeling its weight in his hands, almost a living being all by itself. He luxuriated in it for a long moment.

Claire laughed. "If you ever leave me, it's going to be for someone with even thicker hair than mine, isn't it?" She glanced at him over her shoulder.

He swallowed, but said, "That's right. 'Though I'm not sure where I'm going to find that someone." He twisted the tresses into a big knot, using the pins already there to catch it into place.

"How come only you can do this?" she asked, patting it carefully and facing him.

"Doctor's hands." He waggled his fingers at her.

"_My_ doctor," she added, capturing them in her own and bringing them to her mouth, biting his knuckles lightly. "You did good in there."

"Did I?"

"You know you did." She kissed his hand once more then let it drop. "And when you announce to the folk in town that you've got the antiviral, they're going to feel the way I do about you."

"And how's that?"

"I love you." She said it simply without particular emphasis, just a statement of fact.

"Love you too." He managed a smile. "And talking about the antiviral, I'd better go see how it's doing."

"That's my good doctor." She stood straight. "And I'd better be a good nurse and take a look at my other patients." She pressed her lips to his cheek and walked out.

He stared after her, wondering why he'd been so stupid in the first place, when he had so much to lose. But it made the choices available to him easier, since basically he now knew he had only the one.

---

"And just why would you want this here warrant, Captain?" Judge Temple asked, leaning back in his chair and looking at the man in front of him over a pair of steel-framed spectacles. "I can't just go around letting you peer into all and sundry just to see if you can flush a rat."

"Well, this is a rat that needs to be flushed, sir." Mal coughed a little, hearing his breath wheezing in his lungs.

"You should be in bed, young man." Temple spoke more kindly. "Any fool can see you're not well."

Mal coughed again. "I can be sick later, when all this is cleared up."

"And how's it coming? This evidence-gathering of yours. Made any progress?"

"A little." Mal had thought long and hard on the way over from the clinic as to whether to mention the 'accident'. He'd finally decided against it as he walked through the doors of the sheriff's station. There was no proof Simon hadn't just fallen, despite what Jayne said and Mal believed. And Kuerk had a man already locked up – he wasn't going to go out of his way to investigate, especially if it threw doubt on Hank's guilt. "It'd be better if we could take a look through that database."

Temple sat forward, picking up his pen. "And do you have someone to check it for you?"

"I do. One of my crew." At least, that was the plan, so long as River wasn't feeling too bad. She could, at least, read the information and know what she was looking at.

Temple flicked his pen on the desk once, twice, then signed his name on a blue paper. "Here," he said, handing it out. "Give that to Dr Stokes. It's my authorisation for you to have access to any medical details you think fit. He won't like it, but … it's a man's life at stake."

"That it is." Mal held out his hand. "And thanks."

Temple waved him away. "None needed. There is still justice out here, Captain. And I don't intend to order your pilot's hanging without hearing the evidence first."

"Is that a kinda backhanded way of saying you think he's guilty?"

"I'm reserving my judgement." Temple picked up a file. "Now, I have work to do."

"Thanks anyway." Mal walked out of the office, meeting Kuerk outside.

"Get what you needed?" the sheriff asked.

"I did."

Kuerk grinned. "He must've been successful."

"What? Who?"

"The judge. He always goes fishing in the mornings. I'm thinking he caught a few."

Mal raised an eyebrow. "Really." He wiped his forehead on his sleeve. "As I'm here, can I see Hank?"

"Only if you promise not to collapse in there," Kuerk said, only joking a little. "I'm not in the mood to be carrying you out."

"I'll only be a minute. Just to let him know he's not forgotten."

"Sure."

Mal tugged a comlink from his pocket. "Can I …?"

"If you're planning on organising his escape, no. But otherwise, go ahead."

For a split Mal had an image of Jayne marching into the station, twin bandoleers across his chest, Vera in one hand, a grenade in the other, pin freshly pulled between his teeth. "Nope, no escape," he said, pressing _transmit_. "Zoe?"

"_Sir_?"

"Get to Stokes. Tell him I've got the warrant and to unlock the information. Then get all of it downloaded to Serenity."

"_Will do_."

"Everything else okay?"

"_As well as can be expected, sir_." Zoe-speak for Simon's condition hadn't changed.

"Well, keep me informed." He switched off the link.

Kuerk looked at him quizzically. "Something I oughtta know about?"

"Not right now, no."

"I don't like being kept in the dark, Captain Reynolds. Not in my own town."

"Believe me, soon as I have some light to shed, you'll be the first to know." Mal tilted his head slightly. "Now. Hank?"

---

"I don't know what good you think this is going to do," Stokes complained, his fingers flying over the keys. "There's no guarantee there'll be any match in the database. I don't have DNA profiles of everyone, not by a long chalk."

Zoe, watching over his shoulder, spoke evenly. "Then there's still a chance."

"What?"

"You do have some entries."

"Honestly, I think you're clutching at straws."

"He's my husband."

Stokes stopped, looked up guiltily. "Sorry. I forgot."

"And I don't believe he killed anyone."

He went back to the keys. "You know, I could've done this comparison for you."

"No offence, doc, but I don't trust you."

_You have no idea_, he thought to himself, but said, "Now why would that be?"

"You've already said you think Hank's guilty. I'm not putting temptation in your way." She took most of the sting out of her words with a smile, but he noticed it didn't reach her eyes. "Just send it."

Stokes stared at her, then hit the blue button. "It's done."

Zoe lifted the comlink to her mouth. "River, are you ready?"

"I'm already looking at it," the young woman said, staring at the screen on the bridge of Serenity. She punched a few numbers in, and the information scrolled quickly down, the onboard computer checking through any possible matches. It didn't take long, and River sighed. "Nothing."

"_Are you sure?_"

"I ran it twice."

"_Gorram it_." There was a pause. "_Okay, get back to bed. I'll let the captain know_." There was a click and Zoe was gone.

River looked at Freya, sitting next to her in the other seat. "Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Going to go back to bed."

Freya's eyebrows raised. "I don't recall her telling _me_ to."

"I think it was general order."

"River, you know damn well I'm not going anywhere until we know about Simon."

"Mustn't swear." Her voice was serious, but there was a hint of a smile on her pale face.

"You think that was swearing? Living with Jayne?" Freya shook her head. "I don't know what the 'verse is coming to if the worst Jayne says is damn."

"Simon will be all right." The words were more to reassure herself than anything. River desperately wanted to be there, at the clinic, but even climbing the few steps to the bridge had been almost more than she was capable of. She hated this, feeling so weak, as if her legs belonged to someone else.

"Of course he will, _xiao nu_." Freya laid her head back on the seat and stared up into the ceiling. Could probably do with a lick of paint, or even just a good clean. Maybe later. When she wasn't feeling like she was about to fall off the floor if she wasn't holding on. She turned to look at her friend. "Are you getting anything?" she asked. "About who did this?"

River didn't answer at first, just stared out of the window at the sunshine. "It's a nice day," she finally said.

"Yes." Freya wasn't phased by the apparent non-sequitur, just waited for River to get to her point.

"There's clouds, though. Dark ones. Close by."

Freya squinted outside. The sky was blue as far as the eye could see. So River was being metaphorical again. "More than one?"

"I can't tell." She lifted her feet onto the seat so she could hug her legs to her. "You?"

"Can't feel a gorram thing. And I'm not going to apologise for that one either."

"But do you get the clouds?"

"Oh, yes. Something bad about to happen."

"Jayne's there," River whispered, holding on tightly. "He'll protect."

---

Jayne studied Kaylee as she sat next to her husband, and wondered if River'd been like this when he got himself hurt. The time when he'd had that clot on his brain, or even when the man in the bed had shot him. Had she gripped his hand, talking in a low voice, just so's he was the only one could hear the words, wiping tears away once in a while? Probably. Maybe worse. River'd threatened her brother with violence on more'n one occasion, just so she knew he'd do his best.

He wanted to be up. Doing. Something. But he knew he couldn't. He'd promised Mal he wasn't going to leave Simon's side, and while he'd broken a whole mess of promises in the past, he wasn't about to now. Besides, it was giving him some time to think. And the more he thought, the more he pondered on why Stokes had looked outside. No reason to, least none that he could see. Maybe he was just being thorough, but –

"Jayne!" Kaylee shouted at him. "I think he's waking up!"

The big man was out of his chair and by her side, looking down at Simon, very pale even against the crisp white sheets. "Nah, he's still out," he said after a moment.

"But I'm sure he spoke." Kaylee was staring into his face. "I know he did."

"Wishful thinking, girl." Jayne put his hand on her shoulder. "But he's gonna wake up. He ain't gonna leave you and the kids, is he?"

Kaylee swallowed. "He loves them so much."

"And you."

She glanced up at him, a small smile tugging her lips. "He does, don't he?"

"Yeah. He does." Jayne took a step back, watching Kaylee watching Simon, and sighed inwardly. That man was River's brother, Kaylee's husband. He was little Bethie's father, so maybe he wasn't all that prissy. And he'd taken on Hope, loved her like his own. He shook his head. They were never going to be best friends, but they'd built something like respect, even maybe a thin thread of liking. He'd never admit it, a'course, not even under torture, or even if River threatened to kick him out of the shuttle, but he'd be damned if he was gonna let anything happen to the young doc if he could prevent it.

---

"You know, maybe if we tried together," Freya suggested slowly. "Pool what abilities we have left."

"They're piss-poor," River said, using one of Jayne's sayings.

"That they are, but maybe together they can be something more."

"How?"

"You looked into my mind when I was showing you how to use the medallion." River nodded. "Like that, but just more so."

"I don't know if we can." A sudden look of determination crossed her face. "But we'll try." She sat up, her feet back on the ground. "Do we hold hands?"

"Touching might help," Freya agreed. She stood up and went to the lockers, taking out the blanket from inside and arranging it on the floor. "If we sit here …"

River wrinkled her nose. "Has it been washed?"

"What?"

"I remember what you were doing the last time you and Mal had that blanket out."

"You weren't supposed to be peeking."

"You were too loud."

Freya chuckled. "It's been washed, little miss fussy." She lowered herself down, and River slid out of the chair to join her. "Now, if we hold hands and –"

"Want to join in," came a small voice from the doorway. Both women looked up to see Bethie, a blanket wrapped around her. "Want to help," she added, sniffing hard and wiping her nose on the back of her arm. "My Daddy."

For a moment River was going to tell her to go back to bed, but Freya got in first. "You feeling well enough?" she asked.

"My Daddy."

"Okay." Freya held out her hand and the little girl hurried to join them, sitting down so she was leaning against River. Fiddler slunk in after her, turning around a few times then settling under the pilot's chair. "Let's see what we can see."

---

"I told you there wouldn't be anything," Stokes said, tidying away some samples from the counter into one of the cold units.

"We had to check." Zoe crossed her arms.

Stokes closed the door. "I know. And I'm sorry I said what I did. But you have to understand. If it wasn't your husband, then it was probably someone I know. Someone I've treated, drunk with, maybe even invited to my wedding. You can see how I feel, can't you?"

"Then it's someone –"

The ViroStim beeped. Just once. But Stokes was on his feet immediately, almost running to the machine, checking all the dials and readouts.

"Is it …" Zoe licked her lips.

Stokes exhaled. "Yes. It's ready." He slid a compartment open and pulled out a tray of one hundred tiny ampoules, already sealed.

"That's it?" She stared at the pale gold liquid, almost seeming to give off a light all by itself.

"That's it," Stokes confirmed, rolling the tray from side to side. "One of these and your crew will have enough in their system to knock out the virus."

"It's that potent?"

"It has to be. Your doctor pushed the machine to its limits to get as much as possible, as fast as possible. Normally it would take three times this amount to be effective."

"But it's only a hundred doses. And it took two days to –"

"To calibrate. To get the system running." He found himself grinning. "Now it's done the work, there'll be another hundred in half an hour, then another. By this time tomorrow I'll have enough to vaccinate most of Monument who might have been affected." He placed the tray down on the counter and carefully removed one of the ampoules. Breaking the seal, he filled a hypo from it. "You first," he added, turning back to her.

"No, I –"

She tried to back away but he was faster. He'd grabbed her arm and slid the needle into her exposed skin.

"You're here. We do as we find." He tossed the used hypo into the bin.

She glared at him, rubbing the injection site. "You and me are going to have words about this."

"I'm a doctor, and you're sick. Did you think I was going to –"

He was interrupted by Zoe's comlink buzzing. She lifted it up. "What?"

"_He's waking up_!" Kaylee's excited voice filled the room. "S_imon. He's waking up_!"

"We're coming." Zoe was already heading for the door, not noticing Stokes pick up the tray and half a dozen empty hypos.

---

"I can't reach it," River said, her head down, hair hanging across her face like a wave of black water.

"I'm scared," Bethie admitted, scratching absently at the rash that had moved to her chest.

Freya gently pulled her hands away without even opening her eyes, holding them in the little girl's lap. "Concentrate more. Open up."

"Trying."

"Scared."

"Hold on."

---

As Mal turned the corner he was surprised to see Zoe and Stokes hurrying away from him down the corridor. "Hey! What's going on?" he asked, starting to run.

"Simon," Zoe threw back over her shoulder. "He's waking up."

"I need to examine him," Stokes said firmly. "Make sure there's no complications."

"But he's awake?"

"That's what Kaylee said." Zoe reached the door to room 12.

"You'd better wait out here," Stokes suggested, but not even a tidal wave could have stopped Serenity's captain and first mate as they pushed past him. He bit back on the words that wanted to spill from his lips and followed them in.

"Kaylee?" Mal said, stopping by the bed.

"He's awake." She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears of happiness. "Said my name."

Stokes almost manhandled Zoe out of the way so he could get to his patient. "Step back," he said, waving at them to move. "Give me room."

"_Mei-mei_," Mal said, lifting Kaylee gently away from the bed and handing her to Jayne.

She didn't mind. Her Simon was awake.

Stokes leaned over the bed, looking down at the young man. He began to check his vital signs.

---

"Can't."

"Relax, River. Don't fight it."

"Auntie Frey …"

"What the hell?"

---

Simon's eyes fluttered, then opened. He was obviously having trouble focusing, because he blinked several times before fixing on Stokes. His mouth dropped open slightly and he tried to lift himself off the pillow.

"Just lie still," Stokes ordered, pressing him back. "You're in the clinic. You had an accident."

"You …" Simon tried to speak, but his voice was weak, raspy. He swallowed hard. "Doctor …"

"That's right." Stokes spoke quickly. "That's me. I'm the doctor. And right now you're the patient." He made a show of lifting Simon's eyelids and shining his penlight into them.

"Stokes …" Simon still couldn't get more than one word out.

"You're still concussed," Stokes said, picking up one of the hypos and an ampoule. "I'm going to give you the antiviral. It'll help lower your temperature and reduce any pressure still on your brain." He broke off the tip of the tiny glass phial, holding it up so everyone could see him push the needle inside. "You'll soon feel much better." He leaned forward, his back to everyone else, covering his actions as he palmed the full hypo and put the point of an empty one against Simon's arm. "Much better," he repeated, pushing it through the skin.


	16. Chapter 16

Jayne watched as Stokes filled the hypo, the gold liquid almost hesitant in transferring from the ampoule. Then his line of sight was blocked as the doctor leaned over his patient. Jayne moved to try and get a better view, the senses that had kept him alive this long kicking him in the hindbrain now. Then he saw, on the edge of his vision, Mal's eyes widen, and he could feel the action about to happen. The Captain lunged forward, dragging Stokes away from the bed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Stokes shouted, struggling to get free.

"Zoe! The hypo! Check it!" Mal was barely holding on, his strength failing. "Jayne, take him."

Without even a thought to ask why, Jayne did as he was ordered, wrapping his strong grip around the man, holding Stokes' arms by his sides. "Gorram it, keep still. Don't wanna hurt ya."

"What's going on?" Kaylee asked, looking from one to the other in scared confusion.

"Yeah, I wanna know that too," Jayne echoed.

Zoe leaned down, looking at the hypo still in Simon's arm. She pulled it carefully out, a single drop of blood appearing at the injection site. "It's empty," she said, her face expressionless but her voice dripping acid.

Mal tried to catch his breath. "Did he –"

"No. It's not been depressed."

Stokes struggled harder, but in his throes his hand opened and something fell to the floor with a clatter. Mal darted forward and picked it up, the liquid inside it glowing. "Son of a bitch," he breathed. He held it up in front of Stokes. "This it? The antiviral? Then what were you trying to inject Simon with?"

"Let me go!"

"Air." The voice was thin, dry, but it was Simon's. They all turned to look. The young doctor was struggling to sit up. "Air," he said again. "Embolism." He coughed. "Enough to kill me."

Mal's face darkened and he glared at Stokes. "Not the first time, I'm guessing."

"You mean he pushed Simon?" Kaylee looked mad now, her small hands clenching into fists.

"That he did."

She was suddenly in Stokes' face. "He was helping you and you tried to kill him?"

"It wasn't like that!" he insisted.

"Then tell me what it was like! Pushing a man out of a window. You tell me what that was like!"

Mal put his hands on her shoulders, drawing her against him, afraid she was going to attack the man. "_Mei-mei_."

She could feel his warmth at her back. "How did you know this time?" she asked, trying to control her emotions.

"Frey."

They all understood.

"What's going on here?" Claire Stokes stood in the doorway to the room, a tray of medical instruments in her hands. "Ray?"

"God, no," Stokes whispered. He struggled again. "Claire, don't. It's okay. I'm just –" But it was too late. He could already see her eyes glazing, and tried desperately to get free.

"Gorram it, you stay still or I'm gonna have to – _Tzao gao_!" Jayne cursed as he felt a line of fire along his ribcage.

Claire had dropped the tray, in the same moment snatching a long thin-bladed scalpel from the air as it fell, darting forward and stabbing at the big man holding her husband. He'd turned at the last moment, and the blade only sliced skin along the bone, but she drew it back for a killing blow.

Mal let go of Kaylee, pushing her to one side out of the way, intent on stopping the woman from attacking Jayne, but Zoe was quicker. She moved between them, her fist flying out to connect with Claire Stokes' jaw. The nurse dropped like a sack of wet sand, lying on the floor in a pool of red hair.

"Claire!" Stokes yelled, finally pulling from Jayne's grasp as the big man reached for the wound in his side. He dropped to his wife's side, stroking her face and murmuring her name.

"What the hell happened here?" Mal asked, looking down at them both, but he didn't wait for an answer. "Zoe, call Kuerk. Someone's gonna get locked up here, and there's more'n a few questions I want answered. And bring back something to tie this woman up with."

Zoe nodded, heading out of the room to find a link.

"You can't do that!" Stokes said, glaring at him. "She … she doesn't know. She won't remember."

"What?"

"She won't remember doing this." He pulled her into his lap, his fingers tangled in her hair.

Mal didn't speak, but there was an inkling of something threading its way through his mind.

Kaylee had climbed to her feet and was helping Jayne lift his t-shirt. "Stand still," she ordered as he squirmed, trying to get away from the pain.

"Then be careful!"

"I am being careful." She glared at him. "Big baby."

"Mal, help me up," Simon said, trying to push the covers off. "I have to see to Jayne."

It was with a surprisingly gentle hand that Mal pushed him back onto the bed. "You ain't going anywhere, doc. I think we can handle a scratch like that."

"Scratch?" Jayne was indignant. "Feels like the gorram 'Siris Canyon."

"And I can put some weaves on it," Kaylee insisted, sniffing hard.

"Hey, you crying, girl?" the big man asked, changing his tune immediately. "It ain't that bad."

"I know. Just shut up."

---

"I told you I didn't want surprises in my town," Kuerk said, his hand resting on the pistol strapped to his hip.

"Hey, these kinda surprises I could do without, too." Mal leaned against a filing cabinet in the sheriff's office, wishing he could lie down and let the 'verse get on without him for a while.

Kuerk had shown up at the clinic with two deputies in tow, just as Claire Stokes started to come round. Her husband was right – she was disoriented, almost phased out, protesting weakly as one of the men put restraints on her.

"That's not necessary," Stokes complained, submitting to the cuffs himself. "She won't hurt you."

"Don't plan on taking the chance," Kuerk said. "Get 'em back to the station." He waited until they'd been taken out to the hover, then turned to Serenity's captain. "Tell me."

He went through the facts as he knew them, showing the sheriff the hypos, explaining what they'd found out. Kuerk asked Simon a couple of questions, then stood for a long moment, staring at the wall, before striding out. Mal followed, curious, in time to hear Kuerk calling his office and telling them to get Paxton on the wave.

"Paxton?" Mal asked.

"Doctor in a town a distance off. I think we're gonna need his help."

"I can get him," Zoe offered, materialising at Mal's elbow like she grew there. "Take one of the shuttles. It'll be quicker."

"Shiny." Kuerk's calm exterior seemed ruffled as he fed the information back through. He looked at Mal. "You're coming with me. Stokes ain't the only one I've got questions for."

Now Mal stood in the corner of the office, his arms crossed, ignoring the nausea trying to assert itself from the antiviral. Under guidance from Simon, Kaylee had given him the injection while he tried not to see her hand shaking, looking instead at the tray of ampoules and noting a dozen of them missing. He'd half-smiled, knowing Zoe had taken them with her when she'd gone for the shuttle. At least his family were going to be okay now.

Kuerk shook his head. "You should've told me. Soon as your medic went out that window, you should've reported it."

"And what would you have done?"

"Investigated it."

"How? Fingerprints weren't going to be any good. It's Stokes' lab - they'd be everywhere anyway. Same for DNA. And maybe you wouldn't be looking too hard."

Kuerk's eyes narrowed. "I do my job, Captain."

"Yeah." Mal sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Sorry."

The door opened and Warner stuck his head through. "You ready for him now, boss?"

"Bring him in. And how's Claire doing?" Kuerk asked.

"Sitting in the cell complaining. But it's like she's drugged. Not really with it, you know?"

"Doc Paxton better take a look at her when he's got time. But bring Stokes in here."

"Yes, boss." Warner nodded and retreated behind the door again.

Kuerk exhaled heavily. "You know, there was a time I knew exactly what was going on in my town. Down to the last detail. But this, Stokes … Claire … it's got me wondering whether I shouldn't retire."

"I wouldn't," Mal said. "Places like this need good men."

"Now, Captain Reynolds, I was planning on hanging your pilot. And from what you've just said, somehow I don't think you consider me a good man."

Mal was saved from having to answer by Warner coming back inside, bringing Stokes with him.

There was no fight left in the doctor, and he sat down willingly in the chair placed for him in the centre of the room. His eyes, though, were haunted, as if he'd seen horrors he just wanted to forget. Warner went to stand in the corner, but switched on a recording machine sitting on the table first.

Kuerk perched on the edge of his desk, glaring at Stokes. "Well, Ray? You gonna tell us what the _diyu_ happened?"

"It was my fault." His voice was low, almost inaudible, but insistent. "Whatever you think Claire did, it was my fault. She's not responsible for her actions."

The sheriff glanced at Mal, then said, "That's something we're gonna be letting a jury decide. But right now you're going to have to go through it from the beginning."

Stokes looked up at him and nodded. "I didn't mean it to happen, you know. Claire and I were happy, but then Rita arrived and … things changed." He dropped his head, staring at the restraints on his wrists. "She was an offworlder," he went on. "She didn't understand about the way people are here. She married Stan, but ... she thought it would be different. And when it wasn't ..."

"Go on." Kuerk crossed his arms. "I take it you started an affair."

"It wasn't anything at first. Just a drink after work. Then lunch together. I can't even tell you when it changed."

"But you started sleeping together."

Stokes nodded. "At the clinic. You have to understand, I love my wife, but Rita was … different. We couldn't go to a hotel, use either of our houses, but there were plenty of empty rooms with beds there. It became a habit."

Mal stirred uncomfortably, hearing Freya's voice in his head from before.

"_Love. No. Sorry. Not love. Obsession, maybe."_

"Obsessed," he murmured.

"Yes." Stokes looked up, eager to agree. "That was it. I was obsessed with her." The haunted look came back. "Then she told me she was pregnant."

"What did she do, threaten to tell her husband?" Kuerk asked.

Stokes nodded. "Rita said she was going to ask for a divorce. I tried to explain Newhall doesn't look well on this kind of thing, but she was adamant. Kept saying she couldn't do this without me, that she wasn't intending to, even if she had to tell everyone. Including Claire." A tremor ran through his frame.

"So you decided to kill her."

"No!" Strokes jumped to his feet, but quickly sat down again at the click of the safety on Warner's gun being removed. "No. I didn't want to … I just wanted to get her away." He rubbed his hands together. "I arranged to meet her in the bar, where I knew Claire wasn't likely to find us. Stan was sick, so if anyone saw they'd think I was just trying to take her out of herself. I had a little money, and I was going to give it to her, tell her to leave. Maybe even promise to follow her later, but just … get her out of Monument."

"Only she wouldn't go."

"She said it wasn't enough. Was about to make a scene. Then I saw this card game, and the money sitting in the middle of the table, and …" He swallowed and looked at Mal. "I'm sorry. I didn't know he was … He was just another man in a saloon, winning at cards. I didn't …"

"What?" Kuerk leaned over him, his hands on the arms of the chair. "Figure him for a man with friends?"

"It was going to be easy," Stokes insisted. "Rita went and got the Volmenox, we dosed up a shot of whiskey and …" He licked his lips.

"And Rita made a play for him, persuaded him to follow her outside," Kuerk filled in.

"He didn't have to go."

"Not what I heard. And you knew exactly what that drug'd do to him, didn't you? Make him all … pliant."

Stokes wouldn't look at him, didn't reply. Instead he went on, "I followed them until they came to that alley, then we pushed him inside. It was easy. Except …" He swallowed. "She had a knife."

Kuerk couldn't help it. "Are you saying _she_ attacked _you_?" he asked incredulously.

"I don't know what happened. She was hysterical, saying I'd promised to leave Claire, go away with her, and then … she was on the ground."

"No." Mal spoke. "It didn't happen like that."

Stokes head jerked up and he glared at the other man. "You weren't there! You don't know!"

"Maybe not, but I was in that hospital room. Saw what your wife did when she thought you were being threatened. Heard you trying to stop her." He stepped forward. "What happened? She follow you? Saw you with your lover and … what? Came over all murderous there too?"

For a moment they could see Stokes was going to deny it, to continue to take the blame. Then he seemed to collapse into himself. "It's an illness. She can't control it. She's on medication, has been for a long time, but with all this going on, the measles, everything, she can't have been taking it regularly, and …"

Mal and Kuerk exchanged glances, knowing they were finally getting to the truth. The sheriff nodded and said, "Better tell us the rest."

"You're right," Stokes said, a broken man. "Claire followed me. I didn't think she knew about Rita and me, but she must have guessed. Rita and I were arguing, and then suddenly Claire was there, Rita was against the wall and my wife was …" He stared into nothing for a moment, then covered his face with his hands.

"Who decided to frame Hank?" Mal asked quietly.

"Me," Stokes admitted, pulling himself together. "Claire was in no fit state. You've seen her. After one of her episodes it takes her several hours to recover, and she never remembers. It was my decision to make it look like your pilot killed Rita. I covered him in her blood, put his hand on the knife … and took Claire home."

"And my medic? Simon? Why'd you try to kill him, or are you gonna say Claire did that?"

"No, that was me." He sighed. "He found out I was the father of her baby. I couldn't risk him telling anyone."

"Well, I guess that about covers it for the moment," the sheriff said, shaking his head. "You've made a _xue jiu _out of this whole mess, Ray. You should've come to me, told me. Explained. I could've spoken to the Judge, got Claire the help she needed, even maybe found a way for her not to be …" He stopped. "Ain't gonna happen now, though. Stan's not only lost the woman he loved, but Claire's probably gonna be locked up in some institution for the rest of her life."

"I thought –"

"No, you didn't. Everything you've done has been a reaction to something. If you _had_ been thinking with more'n your balls beforehand, we none of us would be here now. And Rita wouldn't be lying on a slab down in the morgue." He looked up at Warner. "Take him back to his cell."

The deputy nodded, helping Stokes to his feet. As he led him towards the door, the doctor wriggled around to look at Mal. "And Simon? Is he going to be all right?"

Mal gazed at the attempted murderer. "It'll be a while, but ... yeah, I've a notion he's gonna be okay."

"Good. I'm glad." Stokes licked his lips. "Tell him I'm sorry, okay? He's a good man. I really didn't intend to hurt him. We neither of us intended to hurt anyone."

"I'll be sure and tell Judge Temple you said that," Kuerk said, nodding to Warner to take him away.

"What about Hank?" Mal asked, leaning against the wall again as the door closed, feeling tiredness sweep through him.

"I just need to talk to the Judge." He chuckled at the look he received. "It's all right, I'll be waving him now." He glanced at the clock. "I think at this point I'm going to enjoy waking him up."

"I'd take that as a kindness. So'll Hank."

"You want to go tell him?"

"Conjure he's figured it out, seeing as your men had Stokes back there."

"Perhaps. But he'd probably like it confirmed."

"Oh, I think he can wait a while longer." He gave his slow, lazy smile, then grimaced, a hand to his chest, just below his throat. "You got somewhere I can –"

"Throw up?" Kuerk grinned. "Yeah. Just through there." He nodded towards a door in the corner, then said, "You think Rita brought that knife with her?"

Mal shrugged. "I think we'll never know for sure."

---

Hank stepped out into the dawn light, the sun just beginning to kiss the darkness back from the horizon. Above him a few stars still glittered, and he smiled. He couldn't wait to be out there amongst them again.

"Better?" Warner asked, standing behind him.

Hank turned. "Much," he agreed.

Warner laughed. "Well, I don't think you'll be back any time soon, but if you do, look me up. We can go have a drink."

"You're on. You know, for a lawman, you're not bad."

"For a crook, neither are you."

"Hey, I'm a pilot. I just fly the spaceship," Hank protested.

"Yeah. Right." Warner grinned as he closed the door.

Hank smiled and turned towards the docks, taking a deep breath of freedom. It had never tasted so good.

He strolled down the main street, pondering the fact that while Monument City was pretty much still asleep, there was some activity here and there. For instance he could hear the low murmur of music, and as he got closer there was an occasional voice, a burst of laughter. They were coming from a bar, which a somewhat subdued sign announced to be _Picadee's_. Stepping closer, he peered through the window, and through the grime could just see a game was going on. Just then someone laid down his hands and leaned forward, claiming the pot. Hank couldn't see the cards, but just knew he could beat them.

He took a step towards the door … and stopped, appalled. A minute ago he'd been anxious to get home, back to Serenity, to see Zoe and Ben, make sure the antiviral had done its job and stopped the measles in its tracks, desperate to know they were feeling better … and here he was considering - no, _needing_ to go inside this bar and take these guys on.

A little voice in his head piped up. _"Just a couple. No more. Take the first big pot and go. No-one's going to notice if you're half an hour. Hell, no-one knows they've let you out yet. Just a few hands …"_

He wanted to. He could feel it, the itch in his fingertips to be holding the deck, flicking the boards onto the table, analysing the faces of his opponents, learning their _tells_. It would be so easy just to give in.

Zoe was right. _Run-tse duh fuo-tzoo_, but Zoe was right. Even the thought of little Ben waiting for him to come home, of what his Amazon of a wife would do to him if she found out … even that got buried beneath the need.

A wave of nausea rolled through him. Zoe was right. He was addicted to it. Disgust followed the nausea, even more so when he realised the need was still there. His fists clenched, the nails biting into his palms. _"Just one hand. One. They'll never know."_ He leaned over, spilling his guts onto the street.

Finally there was nothing left, and he gave one last dry heave before standing up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, trembling slightly. Glancing through the window once more, he turned on his heel and started to trudge back towards the ship, feeling the need get stronger with every step. He so wanted to turn back, to open the doors and smell the stale beer, the smoke, hear the clatter of coin on the old wooden table … he was panting as he reached the corner and stopped abruptly.

"Jayne."

The big man pushed off from the wall. "Ain't easy, is it?"

Hank swallowed, tasting bitterness in his throat, and glanced back guiltily. "You saw?"

"Yeah."

"Mal ask you to keep an eye on me?" A trace of belligerence soured his tone.

"Nope."

"Then why -"

"Just figured they'd be letting you go."

"And what would you've done if I'd gone in there?" The belligerence was turning to anger boiling up inside, needing something or someone to hit out at. "Followed me and dragged me out, kicking and screaming?"

"Nope. Not my place."

"Then what? What'd you do?"

"Nothing. Been disappointed, maybe. Torn you limb from limb when you got back, if Zoe hadn't done it first. But I didn't have to. You made the right choice."

The anger was unexpectedly dowsed. "It's hard," Hank blurted out. "Damn hard. I wanted … I still want to go back."

"But you didn't. First step to tackling this."

"Why do you care?"

Jayne shrugged. "Not sure. Maybe 'cause I seen others like ya. Taking what they think's the easy path and ending up with crap all. Or maybe I don't wanna see that little boy back there growing up without a daddy. 'Cause that's what he'd do, if'n Zoe found out you broke your word. You'd never see him again."

Hank paled. "I know. And I don't think I could live with that."

"Then hold onto it. Each time the demon tries to tell you it's okay, that one hand ain't gonna kill no-one, you remember it. Hell, have it tattoo'd on your arm. I'll do it for ya."

The pilot laughed, somewhat shakily. "I might just take you up on that."

"'N' if you feel the need, if that thought ain't enough, you come to me. I'll break one of your legs for ya. No charge."

Hank wasn't sure if the ex-mercenary was joking or not, and finally decided maybe it wasn't an empty offer. "Thanks, Jayne."

"Don't thank me yet. This is gonna be hard. Maybe the gorram hardest thing you've ever done. But I mean it. You come to me. Or to Freya. Even Mal. You don't go through this alone." He stretched, wincing slightly as the cut along his ribs pulled, and the scent of Jayne wafted to Hank's nostrils. "Now, can we get back? I got a wife and son of my own I wanna check up on."


	17. Chapter 17

It took more than a week before Simon was well enough to be transferred to Serenity, but Dr Paxton finally announced that he could go home, as along as he promised to rest.

"I'll make sure of that, doc," Kaylee said firmly, glaring at her husband.

"Hey, what did I do?" the young man demanded to know.

"You shoulda waited. Not said anything until the Cap was there. Then maybe you wouldn't've got pushed out the window."

"I wasn't well."

"That's no excuse."

In that time the antiviral had been distributed throughout the town, and everyone on Serenity was feeling a lot better. Monument City wasn't sure how to handle her crew, though. Simon had undoubtedly saved them from a lot of suffering, maybe even a few lives, but there was still an undercurrent that they were trouble. There was even a rumour that Rita Hammond wouldn't have died at all if they hadn't been there.

Macallum had said pretty much the same thing straight out. "So I don't think it'd be a good idea for you and yours to come back here any time soon."

Mal smiled. "I take it that job offer ain't on the table no more."

"You weren't going to take it anyway, were you?"

Mal chuckled. "No. Honest truth, we're better off going from place to place. Never was one for putting down roots dirtside."

"Safer, too."

"I'm not sure if I want you to be expanding on that little comment."

"Like I said before, I look into the people work for me, so probably better not." Macallum stuck out his hand. "Captain, if you ever need anything, you wave. And I mean it. Anything. Mary'd make me sleep out in the bunkhouse if I didn't stick to that."

"She's done that before?"

"Let's just say I've made an acquaintance of a bedroll or two."

They laughed and shook hands, then Macallum climbed into his buckboard and flicked the reins, the old vehicle disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Zoe glanced at her captain. "He's a good man, sir."

"That he is."

"You could have taken up his offer. Maybe made this a base for us."

"Nope. Got all I need right here." He looked into her dark face. "Why, you feeling the need to have your feet on solid ground?"

"No, sir. But it does the kids good, once in a while."

"Frey's said the same. But there's things going on -"

"I know, sir. And I'm a space rat, you know that. Born and raised in the black. Likely to die there too."

"Only not for a while."

"Oh, no, sir. Not for a while."

"Unlike Hank." He glanced over his shoulder. "How's it going with you two?"

"It's … going."

"I conjure it's gonna take a while for you to trust him again."

"A good long while."

"Just … don't be too hard on him. He's trying."

"Yes, sir," Zoe said, walking back inside Serenity. "That _he_ is."

Mal smiled at the double meaning and went to fetch his wife and children to take them for a walk, something they'd been doing on a regular basis, giving them fresh air and the chance to get stronger. And maybe this time Ethan wouldn't wander off. Mal shook his head. Thinking they'd lost him had almost given both of 'em a heart attack, until they'd got back to Serenity and found him waiting for them. Maybe those reins Kaylee mentioned wouldn't be a bad idea after all.

The delay in getting back into the black also gave Hank the chance to take the first steps. He'd waved Sam to give him and Inara the good news in person, and asked what he should do. Dr Nazir had given him a list, even offered to talk if he needed it, and Hank had promised to do so, whenever they were in range. As he switched off the wave, though, he had to smile. It looked like Inara had hit Sam quite hard on the arm, and was demanding to know why he hadn't told her about this in the first place. It looked like he had a lot of explaining to do.

Still, Hank took his advice, and at dinner that night he waited until everyone had finished eating, then coughed and stood up.

"Guys, there's … there's something I wanna say to you. _Need_ to say to you."

All eyes turned to the pilot.

"Well, go on," Mal said. "No-one's gonna try and stop you."

"Thanks. I think." He looked around. "I reckon you all know what I'm about to say, although most probably think I'd never say it." He turned to Kaylee. "You were right, you know. What you said before. And I'm sorry I lied to you." His gaze travelled to the rest of his crewmates. "I'm sorry I lied to all of you." He stopped, his hands twisting together.

"Need to say it," Jayne muttered, and River patted his hand.

"Jayne," Mal warned.

"No, he's right." Hank took a deep breath. "I wish I weren't, and for the life of me I wish I'd never started, but … I'm addicted to gambling."

There was a collective sigh of relief around the table.

"Oh, Hank," Kaylee whispered, her eyes just a little moist.

"I honestly can't say how it happened, it just did. And I … it made me say things I regret. Mostly lying to you." He looked down at his wife, who was carefully studying the plate in front of her. "I need help, Zo. It's gonna be bad, and there'll be days I … Jayne said he'd put me out of action if I wanted, and I really don't want that, but I need your help."

She didn't answer, but as he sat down again she put her hand on his, squeezing.

"Jayne, what did you say you'd do to him?" Mal asked, trying to ignore the lump in his throat.

"Said I'd break his leg for him. If he asked." Jayne looked around the table. "What?"

"Big softie," River murmured.

Mal sighed. "Well, as appealing as that sounds, and I for one would like to thank Jayne for his offer, but I'd rather you didn't. Leastways, nothing that's gonna stop my pilot flying my boat."

"Besides," Zoe said quietly. "He doesn't need someone else to do it for him. Not when he has me."

Hank smiled, somewhat nervously.

Now they were back in space, ambling towards Persephone, and a meeting with Badger.

"Can I kill him if things don't go well?" Jayne asked, bouncing the silver ball in the corridor outside the bunks. "Seeing as I ain't gonna be allowed to damage Hank."

"I think Frey's got first refusal on that, but I'm sure she'll let you give a hand." Mal stepped down into the galley. "Ain't that so?"

Freya turned from pulling a mug from the cupboard. "Isn't what what?"

"That you're ready to play." He grinned. "Gotta get back to strength."

She eyed the pair of them. "And you think this is a good idea?"

"Doctor's orders."

"Hey, don't drag me into this!" Simon declared from the armchair in the lounge area.

"Be good for us." Mal leaned on the counter and looked at his wife. "We'll let you win again."

"You didn't win before," Freya pointed out.

"Win what?" Hank asked, following Zoe down the steps.

"Mal thinks we're going to play hoopball."

"Hey, good idea!"

"I'm in," Kaylee added from the other doorway. "And I'll get Bethie up. She can keep score."

"How is the short stub?" Mal asked, smiling at her. "Feeling any better?"

"A lot. Simon said she can get up today, if she's good."

"Great." He grinned wider. "So a game it is."

"Dibs on Frey on my team," Hank put in quickly.

"Your team?" Zoe looked at him, raising her eyebrows by a millimetre.

"I meant yours, sweetheart." He tried a smile. "Long as I'm on it."

"Hank."

"What?"

"You're trying too hard."

"Anyways, it's boys versus girls," Jayne said, stretching. "Got payback to get."

"You think?" Zoe turned her gaze on him.

"Yeah." He bounced again. "Come on." He walked out of the room towards the stairs, only pausing when he heard Mal speak.

"What was that?" Mal asked.

"What?" Freya took a mouthful of coffee.

"That."

She paused, listening. "Sounds like … no idea."

"Something might be about to fall off my boat and you don't know what it is."

"Do you?" she asked in turn.

"Well, no, but that's not the point." He glared at her. "It sounds like something humming." He looked at Kaylee. "You got any light you wanna shed on this?"

The young mechanic cocked her head. "Don't hear nothing, Captain."

"Everyone going deaf on my boat?" He strode into the corridor, stopping by the open hatchway to Jayne's old bunk. "It's coming from down there."

"There ain't nothing down there to make a noise," Kaylee pointed out.

"Then you explain why I'm hearing things. And I'd take it as a kindness if you'd remember who's the captain." He dropped down the ladder, Freya a pace behind him. At the bottom he peered into the darkness, then switched on the light. "Ethan?"

His son was standing guiltily in the corner, half turned away. "Yes?" he asked, not looking at them.

"What you got there?"

"Nothing."

"Don't look like nothing. Come here. Let me see." Mal took a step forward but Ethan was too quick for him. He'd swerved round his father and bolted up the ladder before either could stop him, faster than they'd had seen him move before, something grey and small under his arm.

"Ethan?" Freya called, but her son didn't stop. She was up the ladder just as quickly.

"What the hell's going on?" Mal demanded to know, following her.

"I don't know."

Voices in the galley drew their attention, and he could see the rest of the crew clustered around something.

"Ethan, you come here and …" Mal's voice died away as Kaylee moved to one side. "Oh, no."

The little boy was standing in the middle of the group, holding a small kitten to his chest. "Mine," he said quietly.

Mal stepped down into the kitchen area, glaring. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Mine," Ethan said louder, his eyes looking suspiciously shiny.

"Well you ain't keeping it."

Ethan took a step back, leaning against Jayne's strong legs as if for protection.

"Aw, Cap'n, it's sweet!" Kaylee ran her fingers over the tiny head, and was rewarded by a purr far too large for the kitten's body.

"It's not sweet!" Mal glared at his crew. "What is this, mutiny?"

Hank tickled one of the tiny pink feet poking out from under Ethan's arm. "He's a cutie."

"She," River supplied, playing tag with the kitten's tail.

"It's a girl?" Hank grinned. "Then she's even cuter."

"No, she ain't!" Mal couldn't believe it. Not one of the people who were supposed to be his friends, his family, were agreeing with him.

"Mal, give it up," Freya suggested quietly, moving round him towards her son. "You know you ain't gonna win. And she is Ethan's. He did find her."

"I know, but –"

"Brought her on board. Kept her hidden. Fed her. Watered her. Cleaned up after her."

"I know, but I – he did?"

"I think someone found him a box and something like kitty litter." Freya reached out and touched the soft grey fur.

"Someone?"

"Mal, it's just a cat," Jayne said quickly.

"You?" Mal's jaw dropped. "And what kitty litter?"

"Some of River's earth."

Mal turned his attention to the young Mrs Cobb. "Did you know about this?"

"No. Well, yes, but not so I allowed myself to notice." She smiled at him. "She's really pretty."

"River …" He turned to look at Freya. "You knew about this too?"

"Not until just now, no." _Ethan's walls are a little wobbly_, she added in his mind. "She's only a cat, Mal."

"Exactly!" He shook his head. "It not occurred to anyone that we've got a dog already?" When nobody answered him, he went on, "Dog? Cat? Big fights, fur everywhere, blood … ringing a bell with anyone?"

"She's a kitten," Simon put in unexpectedly.

"You too?" Mal couldn't believe it. Stabbed in the back by his own doctor, even if he was sporting bandages.

"I think it's an excellent idea."

"Yeah, but only 'cause it ain't gonna live with you."

"So it's living with us?" Freya asked. "Just so I can clarify this."

"Yeah. No." He glared at her. "You're putting words into my mouth, woman!"

"Well, take your foot out and I won't have to." She took his hand and pulled it towards the kitten. "Mal, look. She's ever so sweet."

"Frey, it ain't staying."

"You wouldn't space her!" Kaylee shot back, her voice a mix of disgust and affront.

"I didn't say that. But next planetfall –"

"Daddy?"

Mal stopped, mid tirade, and looked down at his son. "Ethan?"

"Why don't you like her?"

Familiar blue eyes stared back at him, and he felt his resolve weakening. "Ethan, it ain't that I don't like her, but a boat ain't a place for a cat."

"Bethie has a dog."

_He has a point_, he heard in his mind, but chose to ignore it. "And that's another thing. Like I said, dogs and cats fight."

"Not always," Zoe put in, rewarded by a look that should have melted her on the spot.

"I can teach her," the little boy insisted. "Maybe they'll be friends."

"Ethan –"

"Please, Daddy?" His gaze was hopeful, his eyes full of unshed tears, and the lip …

Mal looked at his boy, deciding Bethie must've been giving him lessons, then up at the crew, finally to his wife. _You know you're going to let him_. "Gorramit," he breathed.

Ethan grinned. "Thank you, Daddy!" He kissed the top of the kitten's head, who let out a tiny 'rowr'.

"So what's her name?" Kaylee asked, sitting down and pulling Ethan onto her lap, stroking the soft fur.

"Don't know," Ethan admitted. "We didn't … been calling her _cat_."

"_Maoli_," River said. "She says her name is _Maoli_."

Simon nodded gingerly. "Wild cat. It seems to fit."

Mal couldn't help the sigh that threw itself from his throat, resting his hands on his hips.

Freya put her arm through his. "At least it's not another puppy," she murmured.

"This ain't Serenity. It's a zoo."

---

On Newhall, a man of medium height with brownish hair stopped by the sheriff's station. "'Scuse me, I wonder if you can help me?"

Rudi Kuerk looked him up and down. "If I can."

"I was looking for a Malcolm Reynolds. I understand he was docked here?"

"He was. Left a few days ago. You a friend of his?"

"From the war."

"Well, like I said, he's gone. Didn't say where he was heading, either."

The man sighed a little. "Never mind. I'm sure I'll catch up with him. Sooner or later."


End file.
